


Scents and Sensibility

by neonheartbeat



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alpha Ben Solo, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Jane Austen Fusion, Alternate Universe - Regency, Class Differences, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, F/M, Family Dynamics, Gen, Kylo Ren and Rey Are Not Related, Marriage Proposal, Multi, Omega Rey (Star Wars), Original Character(s), Pride and Prejudice Plot Points, Regency Romance, Virgin Ben Solo, plenty of dialogue is lifted straight outta austen, shenanigans include balls parties fetes and letter writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:14:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 64,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21899479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neonheartbeat/pseuds/neonheartbeat
Summary: When Miss Rey Skywalker, orphaned ward of Mr. Luke Skywalker, finds herself at odds with his arrogant and overbearing nephew, Mr. Solo, an enemy is made at once: but things may not always be as they seem, and there are forces greater than resentment and hatred...
Relationships: Amilyn Holdo & Leia Organa, Armitage Hux & Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Armitage Hux/Paige Tico, Armitage Hux/Rose Tico, Ben Solo & Paige Tico & Rose Tico, Dopheld Mitaka & Ben Solo, Geno Namit & Rey, Leia Organa & Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Leia Organa & Luke Skywalker, Leia Organa & Rey, Luke Skywalker & Ben Solo, Luke Skywalker & Han Solo, Paige Tico & Rose Tico, Paige Tico/Geno Namit, Rey & Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Rey & Luke Skywalker, Rey & Paige Tico & Rose Tico, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 454
Kudos: 1020
Collections: Ijustfellintothissendhelp





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A Pride and Prejudice flavored ABO AU, with some heavy lifting from Jane Austen, because who doesn't want to imagine Ben Solo as Mr. Darcy, I ask you? Tags will be added as plot points emerge in order to hide spoilers, so mind the tags every time I update. No major trigger warnings for this one!

The rolling hills of the English countryside, drizzled in rain and grey wet, seemed to stretch on for evermore under the gray March sky as it had done for centuries before and would for centuries after. Mr. Luke Skywalker, a gentleman of modestly small living who was taking his morning stroll across the fields, pondered to himself: had the invading Romans seen such weather? What had possessed them to press on, into this cold and wet world, leaving behind the warm, sunny, pleasant clime of the Mediterranean? Perhaps they had huddled under that great spreading oak, or that chestnut. Mr. Skywalker liked to amuse himself so, thinking about the soldiers in their sandals and togas, miserable as sinners and missing their fish and oranges. For himself, a greatcoat, a warm scarf over his stock, and a walking-stick would do nicely to stave off the chilly damp.

He turned up a little wet path, his walking-boots splashing through puddles as he made his way up between two great hedges. As he passed down a little further by a particularly thick part of one hedge, he heard a small sound that he thought at first was perhaps a dog—a dog, caught out in the rain and wet like this? Mr. Skywalker paused and bent, his knees protesting this great imposition, and peered into the hedge, intending to coax whatever animal there might be seeking shelter inside.

A great pair of shocking hazel eyes stared back at him, set in a face as white as paper from the cold. It was not a dog after all, but a young woman, huddled inside the hedge like Roughskin, clad in shabby brown rags and trembling.

"Good Lord," said Mr. Skywalker. "Young woman, have you met some misfortune?"

"No, sir," she managed, between shivers. "I mean—I mean, sir, it's always been so."

"Come out at once," he said, beckoning to her. "It is not far to my home. You ought to be put in front of a fire to dry, like a stocking."

She managed a smile and crawled out, and he swept his greatcoat about her shoulders. It nearly swallowed her up, and her miserable little head, with its dark wet hair, plastered to her neck and cheeks, looked about. "Is it—safe?" she asked, eyes flickering up to his. "For a woman of my—of my constitution?"

Then Mr. Skywalker knew what she meant at once, and perhaps why she was hiding. "It is very safe," he assured her. "I live alone, and my own constitution—or lack thereof—prevents me from being any danger to you. Tell me, what is your name?"

"Rey," said the young lady, with a terrific sneeze.

"What! no surname?" asked Mr. Skywalker, handing her a handkerchief.

"No," she replied. "None at all."

"Then you shall borrow mine as it please you: I do not need it all to myself," said Mr. Skywalker. "Luke Skywalker, at your service, and if you don't come along quickly you shall catch a frightful cold and be put in bed with pneumonia."

* * *

Once Rey was washed, dried, and garbed in the only clean clothes Mr. Skywalker could find (a pair of buckskins and a shirt), she was handed the only food he had in the house: bread, jam, and cheese, with a pot of tea at her elbow in the warmth of his poor little parlor.

Mr. Skywalker watched her in amazement as she devoured the food by the handful like a starving creature. Despite her atrocious table manners, she sat politely and more or less did not act as he might have expected a young woman pulled from a hedge to act: someone must have taught her. "Have you parents?" he inquired.

"I have not," she said. "But I—" and here her soft mouth pressed into a hard thin line. "There was a man, or a beast of a man, I should say. He… I was indentured to him, and—well! Well, he only wanted to auction me off to the highest bidder, come my eighteenth birthday, so all I learned was how to look proper and speak correctly and—things like that," she finished. 

Mr. Skywalker frowned. He had an inkling that he might know the man. "Was it Plutt, from the village?"

Her eyes flew open in distress. "Yes—oh, sir, don't make me go back! Today is my birthday, and it's why I ran, you see."

"Fear not," said Mr. Skywalker. "I am not in the habit of forcing young ladies into distasteful situations. You shall stay here, and if Plutt comes a-knocking, then I shall be forced to pay him off, I suppose, but I could not do any less." He sighed, and tapped his stick on the floor. "I suppose we shall have to buy you some ladies' things."

"Oh, sir!" she cried, and flew at him, nearly upsetting the tea as she embraced him, near to tears. "Oh, how ever can I repay it?"

"Hush, child," he said, patting her on the back. "It is not a debt; it is a gift, and although I am not possessed of great means, I will do my best to see you safe."

* * *

The spring rains passed and brought May, with balmy blue skies and flowers springing from the fields. Rey was outfitted in suitable clothing as soon as was possible, and counted herself the luckiest girl to ever walk the earth: she had two whole chemises, a dress for Sundays and another for the week, shoes, a ribbon, handkerchiefs, and stockings—and a bonnet to boot. She took to calling Mr. Skywalker "Papa Luke" and to bring in more income to their meager salary, took in washing from farmer's wives. Most days she could be seen outside the cottage, beating the wet sheets and shirts with a great paddle in a cauldron of lye and water over her fire.

It was back-breaking work, but she found herself rapidly needing to let out the sleeves in her day-dresses as fine hard muscle grew where before there had seemed to be only skin and bone. She had learned several things about her Papa Luke, as well: he lived on a small allowance from a sister whose land he lived on—something to do with an inheritance; he had used to bring in more money when he had been a soldier, but it had not come to much, and he preferred to live simply now, not being able to work on account of his knee and the rheumatism. He did not begrudge Rey her work, and with the money she earned they were able to have meat every Saturday if they liked to.

So on drew the year, through the summer, and then the fall: Rey washed shirt after shirt of the farmers that had been working to harvest the wheat from the fields, and Papa Luke helped her bundle it, sitting on a stool with his stick at his side. By winter, they had enough money saved to buy new curtains for the parlor in the cottage and a fine new waistcoat for Luke, and Christmas presents for each other to boot. They spent the holidays very comfortably together, all snug in the cottage, while the December snow drifted about the tiny windows.

Spring came again, and the crocuses peeked up through the new grass, and Rey found herself happily at work once again in the yard as the weather grew warm, washing the winter's clothes—but alas, it was not to last.

* * *

"Skywalker!" bellowed a voice from outside the cottage walls, as thunderous as Judgement Day. A series of pounding thumps on the door announced the body that went with the voice. "Come out! You have got my girl!"

Rey froze in her tracks like a rabbit and Papa Luke said, "Fear not, child. He will get nothing from me but money." She hid behind the door, her day-dress sleeves rolled up for the washing, and waited in terror for her fate to be decided as the door swung open, revealing the infuriated form of Plutt.

He was like some great toad, swelling up with rage on their doorstep, and he did not even dispense with a "Good day" before launching into a profanity-laced tirade towards Papa Luke, demanding his servant's return.

"Plutt," said Luke, very calmly, once the man had blown all his steam away, "your servant is no longer your servant. She is my companion now, and I think of her very much as a daughter."

"Companion!" Plutt shouted. "That little lightskirt! Companion indeed!"

"Careful, sir," said Luke mildly, "you are coming very close to being turned away with nothing." Rey saw his grip tighten on his stick, and huddled back a little.

"I shall go away with my girl, or with your head on a pike," snarled Plutt. "She was my most promising one: an Omega of—"

" _Sir,_ " repeated Skywalker, even sterner, "you will not use language like that in the hearing of myself or of the girl."

"Oh, come off it, you bloody nonce," said Plutt, sneering. "Think you're better than us, because you had a governess? Well, you're not; and what's more, you're breaking the law. I shall get the constable down here, see if I don't, on account of you harboring my property. She signed a contract!" and the man whipped out a paper, waving it under Luke's nose.

"I was _nine,_ " Rey whispered behind Luke as he looked at it, and indeed, the signature on the line was scrawled and careful, a child's hand, REY. "I was nine, I could not read, and had no notion of what I was getting into; he never let me see the contract after I signed it."

"So," said Skywalker. "You proof is a paper signed by a child who had not attained majority?"

"Go and call a barrister," said Plutt. "You know as well as I do that no lawyer for a hundred miles will defend a girl of her sort without a name or any fortune to speak of. She is mine."

Something seemed to go out of Skywalker then: his shoulders sagged a little and he sighed. "How much money do you want?" he asked.

"Money?" said Plutt, greed written over his visage. "Lord knows she cost me dearly. I had three good men lined up with silver in hand the day she left." A moment passed, wherein his desire for vengeance warred with his desire for pound sterling, and at last he said, "I shall take no less than fifty pounds for her." Rey stifled a cry behind her hand. Fifty pounds? How on earth were they to amass such a sum to pay Plutt?

But Luke was quite calm. "Very well. Give me two months, and I shall pay my debt."

"Now, old man," said Plutt. "I ain't in the habit of waiting for money I'm owed. You may pay it now, or I will take the girl with me, and damn the whole bloody business with you."

Rey could have sat and listened to what Luke would say next, but as facts would have it, she lost her head and bolted. She was too terrified to sit there in the house and listen: she ran straight past Papa Luke's arm, dodged a roaring Plutt with an ease that came from years of practice, and raced straight out into the yard, tears streaming from her face as Plutt bellowed and Luke shouted for her to come back. Oh, the thought of returning to Plutt was intolerable! And yet, she could see no other way, for she knew full well her papa Luke did not have ten pounds to hand, let alone fifty. God in Heaven! To be thrown back into that house? She would rather die.

Down the road she flew, as if she was wind made flesh. Her skirt was flying in the wind, one shoe was falling off and her hair was falling down, but she did not care—indeed, she could not see what lay before her for all the tears until she heard a cry of " _Whoa!_ " and a clatter of wheels. She was knocked aside, breathless, and landed in the dust on the side of the road, leaving her bruised, shaken, and blinking into the shocked face of a coachman leading a fine four-horse team down the narrow road.

"What do you mean by this?" he demanded. "Running in the road and all?"

"Oh, leave me be!" Rey shouted up, tears in her eyes as she scrubbed at her cheeks. "What do you mean by coming down my road anyway like that, fast enough to drive the Devil?"

The door of the coach swung open, and a voice said in short, dark tones, "What is it, Dameron?"

The coachman looked at once chastised. "A girl, sir; running the other way. I didn't see her coming round the bend, and ran her off the road. She appears to be in some distress."

Rey screened her eyes with her hand as she heard the steps come down out of the carriage, and saw first the impeccable black leather riding-boots, then the black breeches, then the waistcoat, black silk with plain black buttons. She became suddenly, intensely aware that she was in poor brown linen, with her petticoat showing and exposing a torn stocking—that she had lost her right shoe—that her face was dusty and filthy and her hair was all a tangle, and that she reeked of lye from the washing.

Then she blinked tears away, and saw the man's face above his crisp white cravat as he extended a gloved hand to her. "Up with you, then," he said tersely, and she took his hand, struggling to her feet as her fingers nearly disappeared into his large palm. The stranger was enormous, certainly over six feet, with a broad trunk and—that _face!_ He looked as if he was angry, or perhaps miserable: the cut of his mouth under the large nose spoke of disdain and his black eyes seemed entirely inscrutable. Rey got her bearings and dropped a proper curtsey as best she could with her skirts torn and muddied, which seemed to amuse the gentleman, if the slight flicker of movement at the corner of his mouth could be deciphered to mean so. "I expect you came from Niima. I did not know curtseying was part of the education of farmer's daughters."

"I'm not a farmer's daughter," she said. He looked her up and down with a slow, careful eye, and it was then that she noticed what the smell of the lye and the mud had hidden until now: there was a particular scent that poured off him like smoke off a fire, something that was working its way down her throat and into her nose: darkly sweet and half-dangerous, threatening to choke her with its potency. She stepped back in sudden fright, for she had only met a man of this particular constitution before twice, and even if he had not been so, he was still a very large person.

If the smell of her had a similar effect on him, he did not show it. "I see," he said. His voice had a deep, flat, rough consistency, now that she was paying attention to it, although every word was clipped and even. "Who are you, then; and how did you come to be run off the road by my coachman?"

"I'm nobody," Rey told him. "I was running because—because—" Stemmed by the sudden appearance of the stranger, the memory of the morning came flooding back all at once, and she fought tears, trying to keep her composure in front of this man she did not know.

The stranger did not seem to notice her distress. "Surely you have a name."

"Rey," she said. "My name's Rey. No others."

He inclined his head slightly. "And mine is Solo. I will see you back to the village."

"I can't go back," she protested, trembling. "I can't: you don't understand—" and out it all came tumbling. "Plutt is going to steal me back to his hovel, for Mr. Skywalker hasn't the money to pay for me—"

"What do you mean by that?" asked Mr. Solo, looking taken aback. "Pay for you? Mr. Skywalker? What are you, some—some bought woman?"

"No!" she shouted, and stamped her foot. "For God's sake!"

"Would you like me to run her off, sir?" asked Dameron, the coach, looking fascinated by the conversation going on about his feet.

"No," said Solo shortly. "I shall take her back at once to Skywalker and get to the bottom of this."

"You're not taking me anywhere," Rey said, bristling. "I have two feet, thank you, Mr. Solo."

"Young woman," said Solo, rapidly losing patience, "I have nearly killed you with my coach, and you thank me by shouting, stamping, cursing, and acting in a most unbecoming manner. Improprieties notwithstanding, I offer to allow you to ride, and you nearly fall to pieces while invoking the name of the man I have come to see." Rey made a move to dart past him and run for it, but he snatched her by the upper arm, quick as a snake, and pulled her far too close for comfort. "You shall get into this carriage," he hissed, "or I shall throw you over my shoulder and carry you to Niima Village myself."

Rey swallowed. "I," she whispered as primly as she could, "will take the coach."

His expression never wavered. "Get in."

She climbed up and sat gingerly on the velvet seats, suddenly much aware that she would be in a closed coach with a man she did not know—but Solo must have thought the same, or perhaps he found her too distasteful to be close by—at any rate, he shut the door on her, and she felt the tilt of the carriage as he climbed up to the front with Dameron. The carriage lurched forward, and on they went down the road.

* * *

When the carriage pulled up to the cottage, Rey shrank down in her seat: Plutt was still raging outside the door, and seemed to have been doing so since she had run off. She realized suddenly that Papa Luke must have had to bear the brunt of the abuse, and felt terribly guilty for it.

Solo got off the coachman's seat and came round to the door, jerking it open. "Out," he said shortly, as if she was a dog. "I see there is a commotion. I expect it concerns you."

Rey slid out, one stockinged foot sinking into the spring mud of the road. Plutt had caught sight of the carriage, and eyed it with some awe: his eye fell on her, and he began to storm his way over to the pair of them. She shrank behind the door of the coach, and Solo must have noticed her fear, for he turned on Plutt as soon as the man was within reach of the horses. "You must be Plutt," he said.

"I am, m'lord," said Plutt, trying to look behind Solo at Rey. "Apologies, sir, for any trouble my girl may have caused you—"

"Your girl," repeated Solo, and looked at her again. "I see."

"I am _not_ —" Rey began, trembling, but was interrupted by Papa Luke, coming up with his stick in hand. Solo turned away from her and gave the other man an extraordinary look, and for a moment she felt utterly insignificant, as if she and Plutt were nothing more than flies on the wall in the room that these two men had made by being in the same place.

"Skywalker," Solo said finally. "Get rid of this…man and this—this washerwoman. It is necessary that I speak to you." One gloved hand had curled into a fist at his side, as if holding tightly to some awful burst of emotion that would otherwise explode.

"The man I would gladly be rid of, but I necessitate fifty pounds to do so, and I shall not be rid of the washerwoman, as you so politely call her," said Skywalker quite mildly. "She is my ward, and an amiable young person, despite her current appearance."

"She's _mine_ ," snarled Plutt, shaking a fat finger at Skywalker, "and I want my money for her!"

"Will someone tell me _what_ is meant by this business about money?" demanded Solo, turning on Plutt, who shrank back, looking suddenly very small beside him.

"M'lord, the girl was my ward—"

"Your slave, more like," snapped Rey, still hiding behind the coach door. "And I won't be sold off like a cow or a horse to some man, I _won't_ , you'll have to kill me first!"

"Rey," said Papa Luke, tiredly. "Go inside and wash. We have a visitor."

She did not wait to be told twice: quickly she ran to the door of the cottage, lifted the latch, and rushed inside. Let the men fight amongst themselves: she, for one, would stay out of it. She went to her room and hastily washed in her basin, then changed into her Sunday best dress, the pale blue muslin, before pinning her hair up properly and tying her ribbon about her throat. Rey went to their little kitchen and cupboard next, pulling the good teapot out and setting a tray for three. It was only ten in the morning, so a high tea should have been in order, but they had no meat in the house, and the bread was going stale. Toast it was, then: with jam and butter and fresh milk, and the cake she had baked earlier that week.

She had just finished putting the cake on the small table in the parlor and was carrying the tea tray in when the door opened, and there stood Papa Luke and Mr. Solo on the threshold. She paused in surprise: Plutt had disappeared. "Mr. Solo," she said, curtseying carefully again with the tea tray in her hands as Skywalker made his way over and sat heavily on the settee, his stick leaning on the table.

Solo looked at her with an entirely indecipherable expression. "Madam," he said, every syllable as clipped and precise as a blade of grass on a lawn. The smell of him filled the whole room, and she took a step back on instinct.

"Do sit," Rey offered, at a loss as to what had taken place outside, but far too worried to ask. "Tea?"

He simply nodded, and she poured for him and Luke as they sat together: settee, armchair, the rickety wooden straightback she had pulled from the kitchen for herself. "So," said Luke, halfway into his cake, "what have you come to tell me?"

"I shall not beat about the bush," said Solo, setting his own empty plate down. "Father is dead this fortnight past."

"Oh," said Papa Luke, with a quality to his voice that Rey had not heard before. "Oh, I am sorry to hear it."

"You won't be when you hear the rest," said Solo, very bluntly. Rey looked at him over the rim of her cup: he looked uncomfortable and angry—even more so when he thrust a paper at Luke, who took it, pulled his reading glasses from his pocket, and unfolded it to read it.

Silence ensued, during which Rey did not know where to look, so she settled for the threadbare carpet over the flagstones, listening to the ticking of their clock. Once, she looked up and caught Solo staring at her, and he looked so disdainful and sour that she looked away at once, flushed with disquiet: what had she done to earn his ire so?

Luke finished reading. "My God," he said mildly.

"What is it?" asked Rey.

He folded the paper and set it on the table. "It is a copy of Captain Han Solo's last will and testament," he told her. "The gentleman has died, and left his widow, my sister, all the land we live on—the estate house in the country—all his goods and his ships—and five thousand pounds a year to my sister and her son, here; but the rest of the money, every penny and crown and pound that he had, he has left to me."

"Then—then you can pay Plutt the fifty pounds?" asked Rey, shocked. "I can stay?"

Luke opened his mouth, but at a venomous look from his nephew, he paused. Solo turned on her instead. "The amount Skywalker is receiving so far outstrips a sum of fifty pounds," he said tightly, "that you might as well be sitting in wealth asking if you can afford to buy a loaf of bread."

"Then—then what is the sum?" asked Rey.

"A lump amount," said Luke, "of five hundred thousand pounds."

"Surely you've misspoken," Rey whispered. "Surely you mean five hundred pounds?"

"I am sure he has not, for I have read the will a hundred times over," said Solo acerbically. "Count your luck, madam. You may even transform into a lady—or something resembling the species, as money cannot buy good breeding or taste."

Stung, Rey rose up. "I suppose to you a lady means I ought to faint at every turn and pretend I am too delicate to open my own doors," she said. "Whether money can buy good breeding and manners, I suppose you shan't find out, as Papa Luke has got the money and you do not."

Solo went red in the cheeks and jerked up out of his seat, filling nearly the whole of the parlor with his shoulders. "You ought to be turned over a knee and whipped, you brim," he snarled.

"Enough," said Skywalker. "Nephew, you may go, and will you tell your mother that I will be pleased to come to Queen's Rise at the end of the month."

"You'll come unaccompanied," said Solo, with another poisonous look at Rey.

"I shall come as I please, and you shall be civil," Skywalker replied with the utmost mildness, "or your mother and I shall have a conversation you will not enjoy, mark my words."

"Oh, hang it all," said Solo, as if he could not have cared less, and stormed from the cottage, leaving Rey and Luke alone.

"Oh, dear," said Rey, suddenly remembering. "I was going to give cake to the driver: he did not get any tea—" and she hurried out, paper parcel in hand, just as Solo was climbing up into the carriage.

"Mr. Dameron!" she called out, standing on her toes to hand it up. "Here is some cake for you, and I really am very sorry about the business with the road."

"Why, thank you kindly, miss," said Dameron, looking pleasantly surprised, and took the cake. "And don't you worry a bit about it; the horses have seen much worse. Do be careful on the roads in future—not all coachmen are as kind as I am—" and he winked.

Solo, behind him, seemed infuriated. "Drive on," he called, and slammed the door on himself.

"Good-bye, then," said Rey, ignoring the great man, and waved at Dameron as they carried on down the road through Niima Village, back to Queen's Rise, wherever in the wide world that might be.


	2. Chapter 2

At the end of the month, true to his word, Papa Luke gathered up all their things, sold some of them, gave some away, but took the sentimental items and packed them carefully into a trunk: then strapped all on the back of a carriage he had bought with their new money, and Rey and Mr. Skywalker left Niima Village behind forever, jolting on down the road.

It was nearing summertime, and all the birds were out and singing in the hayfields as they drove. Rey spent the first hour of the journey delightedly looking out of the windows, for it was only the second time she had ever been in a carriage—and spent the next two hours of the journey quite ill with motion-sickness, hanging her head from the window and wishing she knew how to ride in vain.

Papa Luke gave her peppermints and reassured her every so often that it would not be long now, and in an effort to amuse her, told her all about Queen's Rise and the land it lay on: it was a very old manor house and a very grand one, having the east wing burned down in the days of his father, but repainted and decorated in a fine style; the house was the heart of all the estate about it, and Niima was one of the outlying villages on the edge of its lands. Papa Luke's father had been a mighty Duke who, having married the Marquise of Naberrie (some lovely French daughter of a powerful man to whom the house had belonged then) had risen very high in the King's favor and then fallen low during the Georgian wars, but the house remained, though the title had been taken away and now his sister was only Lady Solo. "You will notice," he said, "that all the men in the family marry into it, for the money and titles all came from the ladies," and that made Rey laugh. Now, he told her, there was only Lady Solo and her son, all served by a staff the size of a small army, and when Lady Solo passed from this world, everything in the house would be inherited by Mr. Solo, who would then become a true Lord in his own right, not just by politeness.

"And then he shall sit every day in his study, brooding and being miserable," said Rey. "I've never seen a more ill-tempered creature."

"He is not fond of much," Luke agreed, "only of his horses and dogs, and of books—and it seemed he enjoyed your cake."

"I wish I had crammed it down his throat," she said with some heat. "Oh, do not make me think about cake, Papa Luke: I shall be sick."

* * *

Queen's Rise came into view in the distance like a great diamond on an emerald bed of lawn and fountain as they passed beneath enormous trees, taking the avenue that cut straight up to the front of the house like an arrow. First: the forest, where Rey could have sworn she saw red deer darting—then, the first lawn, the second, cut short and soft as velvet, then the great fountains and promenade before the house, and at last, they drew up to the porch, where she slid out, feeling quite sick and sore from three and a half hours of jostling, but her pains were forgotten as she stared up in awe at the house.

A house! a house? No, this was no house, nobody could possibly live here: it was like a Greek temple, a museum. White marble, columns, carved stairs, sweeping lines and glass windows without a single ripple to be seen—climbing vines, hedges, flowers—Rey took it all in, and nearly had to sit plump on the steps as footmen took their bags and the doors opened. She saw the looming, black figure of Mr. Solo—did he ever wear any other color? No, he must be in mourning for his father—and stood as straight as she could, determined to not embarrass herself.

Beside him walked a small woman of perhaps sixty years with graying slate hair, done up fashionably under a turban, in deep black mourning day-dress. As she descended the steps on her son's stiff arm, Rey saw at once that she had eyes alike to Papa Luke's, in shape and mood if not in color, and that both had the same nose. "My dear brother," she said, holding her hand out to Luke, who bent and kissed it. "How good to see you back home."

"My dear sister," said Luke, rising again, "my condolences upon your loss."

A shadow passed over the lady's face. "Yes," she said, "and would you believe that already I have been forced to entertain gentlemen who flatter me? To think that I am considered young enough to marry again, and my husband not yet cold in the grave."

Luke sighed. "I shall deal with them, then: here is someone to amuse you. Miss Rey Skywalker, who has borrowed my name, as she has not one of her own—this is my sister, Lady Leia Solo. Leia, this is my ward and companion."

"Ah, the girl from Niima—yes, my son had mentioned something of the sort. Well, let me take a look at you." Lady Solo held Rey at arms' length as she came up from her curtsey, and looked her over from top to bottom with a scrutinizing eye that made Rey feel queerly as if the lady was looking directly into her soul. "What is it you do for my brother?"

"I—I take in the washing, ma'am," said Rey. "He found me in a hedge."

"A hedge!" said Lady Solo, and laughed. "You must tell me all about it at dinner. Oh, and we are putting on a ball in a fortnight's time—" here, she tucked Rey's arm into her elbow and turned, so that on one side her son supported her and the other the young lady, and went back into the house—"to welcome a local young lady back from London after her first season—you won't know her, she's the daughter of the Earl of Haynes? Her name is Rose, and she is a delightful thing indeed, along with her elder sister, Paige, who is not yet married, poor thing, but then, why should the elder have all the fun and the younger be left out simply because the elder is not married?"

"A ball?" asked Rey, feeling as if she was being choked. She could not look over at Mr. Solo at all. "I—I'm afraid I have no clothes."

"No clothes! My dear girl, what have you got on your back, then?"

Rey went crimson as Lady Solo laughed again. "No, I meant—for a ball, I haven't—"

"Oh, do not trouble yourself over it: my tailor shall make you a gown in the latest of fashions. It shan't be an all-white ball, but something in a pretty pale color will suit you, as being unmarried—perhaps light green? Pink?" Lady Solo looked at her again. "Benjamin, what think you? Does her coloring suit blues, or reds?"

Mr. Solo looked at Rey for the first time, and there seemed such undisguised loathing in his glare that Rey forced herself not to shrink back. "Pink, I think," he said flatly. "The freckles can't be helped."

"They certainly cannot," she said under her breath, through her teeth.

"Pink it is," said Lady Solo. "Go ensure your uncle is settled. I shall see Miss Skywalker to her rooms."

* * *

Her rooms, as it turned out, were nearly larger than the entire cottage had been: she had a four-poster bed, a dressing-table, thick Persian rugs, a wardrobe that Lady Solo promised would be stocked with clothing as soon as possible, a window-seat, and—wonder of wonders—a bath-room with a tub and a most mysterious contraption in a closet within, bolted to the wall and consisting of porcelain and pipe and metal that Rey could make neither head nor tail of.

"It is a water-closet," said Lady Solo, smiling. "You will not find one anywhere else, I daresay, in all of England save in a few fine houses in London."

"But what is it _for?_ " asked Rey, afraid to touch it.

"It is a—it—" Lady Solo hemmed and hawed a moment. "For the relief of one's call to nature," she finished, delicately.

"How does it work?" Rey fingered the fine chain hanging down from the porcelain box mounted to the wall.

"Well, you sit here, so, and—perform your business, and after that, you pull the chain, and—" Lady Solo demonstrated, and Rey squeaked in alarm as a great rush of water poured from the side of the bowl, disappearing down the hole in the centre.

"Where does it go?" she asked, fascinated.

"To the river," Lady Solo said. "We are a very modern-minded house, Miss Skywalker: the sink also has running hot and cold water and the bath does, too."

"It is like some miracle," said Rey, awed.

"One day, I have no doubt, every home shall have one. Until then, do enjoy the miracle," said Lady Solo, smiling, and left her to her own devices until dinner.

* * *

Rey, outfitted in her nicest dinner-gown, took her seat carefully as a footman pulled her seat out for her. Lady Solo, wearing a small tiara, and Mr. Skywalker, in an uncomfortable-looking collar, were seated at the table, and it was set for only three. "Will Mr. Solo not be joining us?" she asked, hands folded demurely.

"He will not," said Lady Solo. "Mr. Solo often leaves on errands, and reappears within a few months or so, then he is gone again. He has taken the carriage and gone up to London to see our barrister."

"Oh," said Rey, feeling relieved. The smell of the man still lingered in her nose, and she was glad of his absence: it was not safe for a young lady of her constitution to share a house with a man like _that_ for any length of time, and everyone knew it: probably he had left for that reason, but his mother was too polite to say so. "How many people will be coming to the ball?"

"I have invited a great many fine families with unmarried daughters and sons, so I expect all of them shall come—and then some more," said the lady slyly. "There is no better way to make a match than to attend a ball."

"And—" Rey's burning curiosity could not help it. "At the risk of sounding improper, what—how are balls arranged so that young ladies and gentlemen of particular—constitutions are not caught out unawares?"

"Ah! A subject that I shall assume interests you personally?" Lady Solo took some potatoes from the dish offered to her, pretending not to see Rey's cheeks turn red. "The rooms shall be filled with sachets of lilac and certain herbs are thrown on the fires: it has been done since the days of King George the First, and it has worked tolerably well enough to mask unwanted humors. In addition, the ladies are able to escape to a retiring room in the event of nature overcoming them, as are the gentlemen: two such rooms are set aside for that use in fine houses. I use the library, for the gentlemen, and the morning-room, for the ladies. Oh, and smelling salts, for the most dire of emergencies. Simply cannot have a ball without them, I say." She put a roast potato carefully into her mouth and chewed. "After the Countess Sindian's ball two years ago, everyone has been very careful to have them."

"What happened at Countess Sindian's ball?" asked Rey, sipping her soup.

Lady Solo leaned forward, as if to divulge a great secret. "Her only daughter, who has always been a dreadfully spoilt and undisciplined thing, ran off to the gardens with an infantryman, claiming to be so overcome she could do no less—well, the girl was ruined, and the Countess was forced to see her daughter married to a foot-soldier to save her honor when she had hoped to see her wed to—well." The lady took a sip of port. "Let us just say that the Countess had her eyes set on royalty, and failed utterly. It was truly a blow to the family pride, but as they say, pride goeth before a fall."

"How dreadful!" said Rey, fascinated at this glimpse into the lives of people so unlike her that they might as well have been from the Moon.

"Indeed! Oh, and Luke, my dear—we ought to write to the Patent Office and get you a title."

"I do not want a title," said Skywalker, with the air of someone who has had the same argument a hundred times before.

"You have a ward now," Lady Solo reminded him. "A young lady who must needs move about in society."

"Then let her move about," said Skywalker. "I have seen how easily titles are stripped and given at will: I want no part of it."

"You are perfectly entitled, should I die before you, to the title our father once held," said Lady Solo. "Are we to never hold the title again? Shall the Rise never be what it was?"

"You have a son," he reminded her.

"Yes, a son of twenty-nine, who refuses to marry the match I put forth, who is unsociable and taciturn, who goes to London out of season! Heavens above, brother!"

"You must excuse us both," said Papa Luke to Rey. "My sister and I count quarrelling among our chief entertainments."

"It is no matter to me," said Rey, delicately buttering a bit of bread. "But if it means anything, Lady Solo—I do not think I wish to move about in society at all: I have seen now that the young ladies here are treated just as they are down there in Niima Village, bought and sold like so much livestock, though maybe not with money so much as favors and titles and ambition. I would prefer to stay a spinster, whether in a cottage or in a fine house."

Silence fell over the table, and Rey was afraid for a moment that she had offended the lady, but then Lady Solo laughed again, and all was well. "I have been duly chastised by my brother's little ward, and she is right in every word," she said. "If honesty was currency, then our Rey would be drowning in pound sterling. Fear not, dear girl. You shall stay a maid as long as it please you: men are not in the habit of liking honest women hereabouts."

* * *

The days drew on, and Rey acquainted herself with the staff and servants: the tailor was a thin, nervous man called Charles Connington Padgett-Oberly who she was shocked to discover shared her own constitution (which she had heretofore thought unheard of in men), and who wore gold-rimmed spectacles and muttered to himself as he wrote her measurements down in a neat little book. Mr. Solo's valet, who had used to be Luke's, and who still insisted on dressing the man for dinner first, was Richard Reginald Dagg Damesworth, a name nearly longer than he was tall, and Lady Solo's lady's maid was a young, fair-haired woman with a pert, turned-up nose who went only by Miss Kaydel. There was the cook, big, black-haired Mr. Wexley, who was always willing to let her nibble at something he was making; there was the master of horse, a young African named Finn who had a smile like sunshine and was more than pleased to show Rey how to ride sidesaddle in the yard. Her own maid was a woman of about thirty called Tallie, who was so skilled at hairdressing that she could dress Rey's hair for dinner in less than ten minutes. Everyone called her Miss Skywalker, or Miss Rey, and she felt quite at home in short order.

At dinner, Mr. Skywalker and Lady Solo spoke of where Mr. Skywalker and Rey would live in the coming months: of course Queen's Rise had enough room for them all, plus more, but it was not considered discreet to do so. "You might live in London," suggested Lady Solo one evening. "Rey ought to be presented at court, if she is to live with you."

"I told you, no titles, no presenting." Mr. Skywalker was impassive.

"But how on earth is she to gain any invitations to any events if she has not been presented?"

"I simply shall only attend your parties, Lady Solo," said Rey cheerily, "and the rest of the time I will sit at home and make sure Papa Luke's rheumatism does not annoy him."

"You are far too young to play nursemaid," said Lady Solo disapprovingly. "A girl your age ought to go to parties. I am in mourning, of course, so I shall play hostess, but not partake."

"I shall try one to start with and see how I like it," said Rey jovially, and sipped her claret.

* * *

The day of the ball drew round, and the house was all a-dither after lunchtime with airings out, chalking the floors of the ballroom, and Lady Solo bullying Mr. Wexley most awfully over the food and drinks while Rey fidgeted in her sitting room with Tallie and Mr. Padgett-Oberly, laying her finished gown out on the bed.

"Oh, it's ever so delicate," said Tallie. "And so very modish! I think we shall tie your hair up in a Greek chignon, and put a ribbon in your hair."

"What? No ostrich feathers?" asked Mr. Padgett-Oberly, looking scandalized.

Tallie rolled her eyes. "Not at all, sir, you know that quite well—she's not been presented and she's not thirty years old!"

Rey laughed and promised to be back in time for dressing before running out, back downstairs, and darting into the great ballroom, where the curtains had been drawn back and servants moved about the echoing room, chalking the floor so that the dancers' slippers would stick. Fascinated she watched the loops and lines and curlicues being drawn until Lady Solo came in to shoo her upstairs again.

She chanced to meet Papa Luke on the way up, looking very disgruntled as Mr. Damesworth followed him close behind. "Hurry!" she said, beaming. "The guests will be arriving soon!"

"The sooner gone, the better," said Skywalker. "I have no stomach for this sort of stuff and nonsense. Balls, indeed. Humbug."

* * *

The guests did indeed begin to arrive, in carriages and coaches that streamed by the front steps of the great house as the last pinks and oranges of the summer sunset faded from the sky and lanterns were lit to guide them in. Young girls in soft yellows, mint greens, pale blues, light lilacs: matrons in deep reds, golds, blacks, indigos—gentlemen in flawless full dress, with their cravats tied just so and their hats brushed to an inky sheen to match their coats—all of them streamed up into the imposing doors of Queen's Rise, and began to mingle and make conversation and drink and eat.

In the midst of it all, Lady Solo made a great show out of descending the grand stair in her widow's blacks, flanked by her brother and Rey, while the crowd gossiped and whispered: who on earth was that young woman? Was that gentleman the lady's reclusive, eccentric brother? It was all very mysterious, and Rey reveled in the glee of being a total unknown. Why, none of these ladies knew she had used to take in washing—nor would they, unless she took off her gloves—so she might be anyone: someone's long-lost cousin, or a daughter, or a friend, or a visitor from London, anyone at all!

"Rey, my dear," said Lady Solo, taking her arm, "this is Miss Rose Tico—" and Rey was face-to-face with a smiling, round face, jet-black hair piled high, pearls, and a pale green silk gown, who smelt strongly of roses, appropriate to her namesake—but under it, Rey could scent out that the girl shared her own particular constitution. 

"I am very pleased to make your acquaintance," Rey said, and they curtsied to each other.

"Oh, the pleasure is all mine!" said Rose, her face alight. "You simply must meet my sister, Paige: she is over there being introduced to Miss Pava." Rey allowed herself to be pulled over, and curtsied again and made introductions with a lovely young lady a few years older than Rose, with the same black hair and eyes, but with a slimmer figure and face. Her gown was a butter-yellow, with slippers to match, and her hair was studded with pearls, but she smelled only of faintest lilac, nothing else.

"I must say how glad I am for this ball," said Miss Paige. "I do so enjoy a country ball, don't you? The men are far less grand and upstanding, and there's so much more fun to be had."

"Oh, indeed," said Rey, who had never been to a ball at all, let alone enough to decide if she liked country balls over any other sort. "I do think men are the most enormous poppycocks."

Rose laughed. "Well said! Mama pushed me at every man in London, but nearly all of them were engaged by the end of the season, and Paige hasn't got a single beau at all. There was that one gentleman who wrote her a good deal of poetry, but it all came to nothing in the end."

"Rose!" hissed Paige, scarlet. "Miss Skywalker will think you are indiscreet!"

"Well, it did!"

"Fear not: your awful poetry secret shall remain with me," promised Rey, smiling. "I think the dancing is about to begin. Shall you join me?"

Rose lit up. "Oh, yes! We ought to find partners. The best way, Mama says, is to stand at the edge with your bosom pushed out, and—"

Paige purpled in embarrassment. "Rose!"

"Well, she does!"

Rey fought a laugh. "Then we shall take your mama's advice and stand so, and see if any gentlemen ask us to dance."

* * *

As an unintended center of attention, Rey was asked to dance nearly every turn by some new gentleman, whether it was some handsome man in tails or an elderly lord. By the seventh reel, she was exhausted, and glad of the chairs set round the ballroom: she plopped into one rather ungraciously and fanned herself as Rose made her way over again. The majority of the guests had decided that she must be Mr. Skywalker's natural daughter, the other part thought she was a distant relation, and she was enjoying being coy about it very much.

"You shall never guess who's arrived just now," Rose gasped, sitting beside her.

"Who?" asked Rey, sipping lemonade.

"It's Mr. Benjamin Solo! He's just come from London with some friend, and he's outside! Why, he never comes to these sorts of things: whatever can he want?"

Rey started out of her seat at once, shocked, as the unmistakable figure of Mr. Solo appeared, head and shoulders above every man in the room, between the great French doors at the end of the ballroom. The music died for a moment as the musicians and every dancer in the place turned to look at the newcomer: he was all in black still, save for his white stock and collar, and as Rey stood transfixed with mute shock his eyes found her, and she froze, as a rabbit caught in the gaze of a fox freezes.

Then, his dark eyes slipped away, and he walked further in, and the music started up again, the spell broken. "Oh, Lord," whispered Rey, hand pressed to her breast.

"Who's the man with him?" asked Rose, eyes alight with interest. Rey had not even noticed that there was another man with him, but peering through the crowd, she caught sight of the newcomer: gingery hair, pale skin, and an inch or two shorter than Mr. Solo, this gentleman was handsome in a sort of insolent way, and he wore the uniform of an officer.

"I don't know," she confessed.

"He's a Colonel!" said Rose, eyes as round as dinner plates. "You must get Paige and I introduced at once!" She beckoned her sister over, and Paige hurried to their side.

"Oh, all right—" and Rey took her friends by the elbows and quickly maneuvered her way through the edges of the crowd until they reached Lady Solo, who was greeting her son and his companion.

"Ah," said Lady Solo, upon seeing Rey and Rose and Paige, "and here you are, all three! You know my dear little friends the Tico sisters, daughters of the Earl and Countess of Haynes: this is Miss Rose and Miss Paige."

Both the girls curtsied, and the red-haired man eyed them with frank interest. "Indeed!" he said, and bowed low. "Ladies, what a pleasure."

"May I present Colonel Armitage Hux, of His Majesty's Army?" Lady Solo waved a hand, and Rey curtsied. "Colonel Hux, this is Miss Rey Skywalker."

"Charmed, I'm sure," said Colonel Hux, bowing to her before he turned back to Paige Tico. "You—I don't suppose you would like to dance, Miss Tico?"

"Why—why, yes, of course," said Paige, smiling shyly as she accepted his hand and he led her out for a reel.

"Do you dance, Mr. Solo?" asked Rose in the awkward silence that followed.

"Not if I can help it," he said, before turning his attention to Lady Solo. "Good God, Mother. Do you find it amusing to parade this girl around as if she's a relative?" His voice was so loud that even Hux heard, head turning, and several others looked at them in confusion and curiosity. Rose's head swiveled in confusion from Rey to Mr. Solo to Lady Solo as Rey's cheeks flamed hot.

"Benjamin," said Lady Solo firmly, "she is as good as a relative: she is your uncle's ward."

"I will not be insulted in my own house," said Solo coldly.

"How fortunate for you, then, that this is not yet your house," said Lady Solo with just as much chill in her voice.

Solo whirled on his heel and marched off, and Rey let out a breath, shaking from her toes to her head.

"Oh, how cruel of him," said Rose immediately. "Come with me, Rey: I shall get you a drink and we shall sit together until you're quite recovered."

"I apologize for my son's behavior," said Lady Solo, sounding very tired. "I can only excuse it by saying his father's death has impacted us all—good evening, my girls—" and she drifted away toward the other side of the ballroom as Rose took Rey to the ladies' retiring room, taking a glass of sherry off a tray as she went.

The room was quiet and cool, and nobody at this early hour was inside it. Rose sat Rey down quickly and gave her the sherry. "He was inexcusably rude," she said firmly.

"But he was right," Rey admitted, ashamed. "I am only a ward, and not a true relation at all."

"Oh, as if that matters! You are engaging and bright and I cannot say I have had a more entertaining time at any other ball as this one." Rose clutched her hands. "When you've recovered, we must go out and see if Paige and her colonel are getting on well. My mother shall be pleased beyond reason."

* * *

It appeared, upon emerging from the retiring room, that Paige and her colonel were getting on tremendously. He seemed unable to take his eyes off her at all, and once the dance ended, Rey and Rose hurried to the hall for another sherry, and to listen to the conversation as Hux approached Solo.

"Upon my word," said Hux, "I have never seen so many pretty girls in all my life."

"You were dancing with the only handsome one in the house," replied Solo.

Hux was undeterred. "I thought her sister Rose quite becoming. And your cousin, what was it? Miss Rey Skywalker? Quite handsome."

"She is _not_ my cousin," said Solo bitingly, "she is a ward of my uncle's, with no prospects, and she is barely tolerable: not nearly handsome enough to tempt me. Go back to your ladies and enjoy their merry smiles. You shall get none from me."

Rey looked down, slightly wounded. Not handsome? She had through herself pretty enough, in her pink dress, with the ribbon and the new slippers. At least Hux thought she was appealing: that was a rather more cheery thought.

"Don't mind him, Rey," said Rose. "Why, if he liked you, you would have to talk to him, and that would be a fate worse than death."

Rey laughed and darted back out the other door with her friend, going back to the dancing with her head held high: Rose was right, after all, such an unpleasant man was one she was happy to have disdain her.

* * *

After three more reels, she found herself in a conversation with Hux, Paige, Rose, the Countess of Haynes, Lady Solo, and inexplicably, Mr. Solo, who loomed on the edge of the conversation like some dark raincloud.

"Oh, what a lovely ball it is, indeed, my dear Lady Solo!" gushed Lady Haynes, who had, over the course of the night, consumed a good many brandies. Her turban was tipping sideways, the feathers trembling and swaying. "I had truly lost all hope for a summer fête, and you have saved us. Why, even Rose has been asked to dance, and that never happens when Paige is about—everyone says Paige is the beauty and Rose is the brains, but what good have brains ever done a young woman? They are truly my pride and my joy: Paige is my pride, Rose is my joy!"

"Mama," hissed Rose, crimson, "Colonel Hux will think you are in earnest." The man in question, however, was still gazing at Paige as if no other woman existed.

"We had thought," said Lady Haynes, continuing on blithely, "that no young man would ever take interest in our Paige. There was that gentleman who wrote those lovely poems, but…well, it came to naught."

"Never underestimate the power of poetry in driving away affections," said Rey cheerfully, trying to bring some levity to the conversation.

Solo spoke, then, suddenly and unexpectedly. "I thought that poetry was the food of love," he said, voice flat and rough.

"Oh, of a good strong love, perhaps," said Rey. "But if it is a new thing, all fragile, like a tiny sprout, then one good dose of a bad verse will starve the affection away for good." She could nearly smell him over the heavy perfume of lilac and herbs in the room: she must make her escape quickly.

A spark of something like interest moved in his dark eyes. "What, then, do you recommend to encourage affection?"

"Dancing," she said. "Even if one's partner is barely tolerable." Rey allowed herself to enjoy the look of discomfort on Solo's face before she turned on her heel and walked out to the hall, Rose in tow hiding a smile behind her gloved hand.

* * *

"What did you think of the colonel?" asked Rey to Paige as the Tico family waited on the steps of Queen's Rise for their carriage. The sun was not yet up, but the eastern sky was faintly alight.

"Oh—I thought him very agreeable," said Paige, all aglow. "Do you think he liked me?"

"He danced with you all night," said Rose, smiling. "Don't be silly! Mama has already invited him to our house for a tea."

"Ha! there it is," said Rey, kissing their cheeks. "You must write and tell me how it goes with you both!"

After they had bundled into their carriage and said their farewells, Rey turned to go back into the house. At the top of the steps stood Mr. Solo, a black smudge of coal on that white stone, and she thought for a moment that he was looking at the sunrise until he turned abruptly and vanished into the depths of the house, leaving her and Lady Solo alone on the step.


	3. Chapter 3

"I have gotten a letter," said Lady Solo one fine morning in the late summer, "from the Ticos. They are putting on a ball in one week's time, a formal one, and I have every expectation that an engagement will be announced."

"Oh, how lovely for Paige," said Rey, delighted. She had been writing letters back and forth with the Tico sisters all summer, and had surreptitiously learned a great deal that she had not known before or thought to ask about that came as second nature to ladies born and raised for fine society. "I shall have to get a white dress."

"Of a certainty." Lady Solo put the letter down on her writing-desk. "I hear my brother is still suffering from that cough, but he dislikes balls, so perhaps he shall not mind us leaving him at home too badly."

Rey shared a smile with the lady and left the room, carrying her book as she went along. What a stroke of luck for the sisters! A Colonel, who brought in quite a decent sum a year, was a fine catch indeed, and since neither sister could inherit any of their father's money (all of it was going to a male cousin, which was entirely unfair, in all the girls' opinions) a fine catch was precisely what they needed.

Mr. Solo had not made a single reappearance since the evening at the ball. To hear the staff say so, he had gone inside, packed, and left for London, and it was in London that he had stayed all summer, to Rey's great relief. She did not think she could bear it if he were to be haunting the house like some gloomy specter, shooting barbed insults at her and lurking in doorways. _Once Papa Luke recovers from his cough,_ she thought, _we shall buy a fine little house far from here and I shall never have to see him again._ She had hoped that they had not outstayed their welcome, but Lady Solo had been so gracious in all things—it would not hurt them to stay awhile longer.

Lady Solo was also coming out of mourning, and wore gray day dresses and violet evening gowns now: Rey had never seen the lady in color before, and marveled at how much younger she looked. Rey had wondered that she had been hosting the ball in the spring at all, seeing as widows were not ordinarily expected at all to attend social functions, but Lady Solo had explained that it had been months in the planning, and she could not expect to delay it or ask another lady to host, as it would have been a great imposition, so most were willing to overlook the social misstep.

* * *

"Are you quite sure you'll be all right?" asked Rey anxiously, hovering over Skywalker's chair. "You must stay warm, and keep drinking tea."

"You," said Luke, coughing, "are as good a nurse as anyone could hope to have. Yes, my girl, I'm all right, and the staff shall have me in good order. Go and have your amusements at Otomok Abbey."

Lady Solo swept in and kissed her brother on the cheek. "At my age, it's a wonder I have any amusement left in me," she said dryly. "Rest well, and we shall see you tomorrow."

They left him there on his couch and climbed up into the coach: Lady Solo in lavender, as befitted half-mourning, and Rey in her new white organdy, slippers to match and her hair all done up in curls, with a white ribbon tied about the pile and a single white rose nestled in the curls. Mr. Dameron, whose services Mr. Solo had not requested on his latest trip to London, clicked his tongue and they were off, the two fine black mares trotting off and away.

Rey was very excited: she had not been yet to Otomok Abbey, and had heard it was a beautiful manor house dating from the eighth century, with grounds designed by Capability Brown himself. In Rose's letters, she had painted a lovely picture of a pleasantly grand family home: intimate dinners, warm rooms full of art and tapestries, gardens and follies. The ball was sure to be a grand affair indeed, and what was more, the engagement announcement would surely be a triumph for poor Mrs. Tico, Lady Haynes, who had been waiting years for her eldest to be married. Paige's letters had not been as many in number as Rose's, but they had been longer and far more absorbing: Colonel Hux was a thoughtful and pleasant man who doted on her and brought her parents little gifts on the occasion of his visits, and she was very much looking forward to announcing the engagement.

* * *

The house, a beautiful, three-storied golden stone masterpiece sitting on a velvet-like lawn in the dusk, glowed like an ember as the light faded from the sky and Lady Solo and Rey stepped from the carriage. All round them, other ladies streamed past, excitedly chattering as if they were magpies. Rey took Lady Solo's elbow and they went inside together. "I do hope you are able to sample the excellent lemonade that was served at the last ball," said Lady Solo. "Do go easy on the sherry tonight: it will do no good for a young woman of your constitution to let her guard down."

"Oh, Lady Solo," said Rey, laughing as they passed the threshold, "as if I am capable of any such thing. Two glasses of sherry shall be all I take; I swear it."

"Very well! Very well!" Lady Solo squeezed her elbow. "I see Rose there by the column: go and have your fun!"

Rey kissed her cheek and hurried to Rose's side, clasping her friend's hands. "Oh, how lovely to see you," said Rose, and embraced her. "How do you like my new gown? We had it specially made for tonight." And oh, what a sight she made: her dress made in a flowing Greek fashion, with her black hair piled high and set with pearls—she looked the perfect form of glowing Demeter, warm and open and full of good will.

"It is as lovely as you," said Rey. "Has your mother fainted of happiness yet?"

Rose laughed. "Oh, wait until the colonel arrives! She is half off her head already."

"Then she shall be wholly off it when he does, and we shall have to shut her in the library. Where is Paige?"

"Fluttering about like a butterfly, of course; she's far too sweet and kind to be condescending to me, but all the same I feel awfully jealous. Let's go find someone to dance with, it's been ages!"

* * *

Out to the great hall they went, in the heart of Otomok Abbey: the ceiling seemed to fly up forever and ever, and from the floors above faces peered down to see the revelries. Two great lines of dancers, the ladies in white and the gentlemen all dark, wove in and out to the merry tune of flute, fiddle, drum, and tambourine: the cotillion, the reel, and a score of other dances besides. Rey merrily danced with everyone who asked, and after a particularly exhausting turn with a Mr. Namit, she sought refuge out in the hall by the stair.

Rose caught her there, looking unhappy. "Whatever is the matter?" asked Rey.

"Hux has not come," she whispered, as if terrified to let the news out to the assembled crowd.

Rey was surprised. "What? Why ever not?"

Rose shook her head. "I don't know. He's sent word he shan't be coming at all: oh, what is my poor sister to do?"

"He sent word tonight? How? By whom?" asked Rey. Rose's dark eyes rushed up to her shoulder, and up, and up—with a nod, she indicated, and Rey turned about.

To her utter shock and dismay, Mr. Solo was standing behind her. He still wore his black coat, but as he was out of mourning by now, he wore a waistcoat of deep blue silk, white gloves, and a diamond pin in his white stock. To make matters worse, the hall was devoid of the lilacs and bundles of dried herbs that made safe the ballroom, and the scent of him assailed her senses: dark and sweet. Rey instinctively fumbled for her handkerchief, which had had lavender scent applied liberally before the evening had begun, but Solo stepped back, as if aware of his effect upon her, or as if perhaps she had a similar effect upon his senses.

"Mr. Solo," Rey said, at a loss.

His eyes flashed over her quickly. "May I have the next dance, Miss Skywalker?"

She had not known what she had expected him to say, but it had certainly not been that. "You may," she said, hardly taking a moment to register what, precisely, she ought to say—then it was too late, and he had bowed and walked back to the ballroom.

Rey whirled on her heel and looked at Rose imploringly. "Oh, what is the matter with me?" she gasped. "Have I no presence of mind?

"I daresay you may find him agreeable after all," said Rose. "He was ever so kind when he gave my poor mother the message from Colonel Hux."

"Find him agreeable! Heaven forbid. That would be most inconvenient, for I loathe him with all my soul," said Rey. "Oh, I suppose I shall have to go. Watch out for me, won't you?"

* * *

The dance began; a slow, stately _sarabande_ , which allowed the dancing partners to speak if they liked. Rey and Mr. Solo moved slowly round each other in silence, neither looking at the other. Finally Rey felt the silence was as thick as a knife, and mustered the courage to converse.

"I do like this dance," she said, lamely.

"Indeed," replied Solo immediately. "Most invigorating."

They lapsed back into silence, while the music carried on. Rey pressed on. Perhaps he did not know how to carry on a conversation during dancing. "It is, I believe, your turn to say something, Mr. Solo—I have said my piece on the subject of the dance, now you ought to remark on the size of the room or the number of couples or the guests present."

Solo turned on his heel as she did, mirroring her movement. "I shall be perfectly happy to oblige. Advise me on which of those subjects you would like most to hear my thoughts on."

"Goodness, no," said Rey, feeling emboldened. "I think that ought to do for the present. We may be silent now, if you like."

"Do you talk as a rule while dancing?" he asked.

Her temper flared. "Not at all. I prefer to be unsociable and reticent."

If he was stung, he did not show it. "Indeed. Have you now made a habit of attending balls at the homes of great families? How very fortunate for you."

Ah, so it was back to the barbs, after all. "I have been keeping correspondence with the Tico sisters all summer. I have found this evening so far a great opportunity to meet new people. When I met them this past spring, they had just had the pleasure of becoming newly acquainted with Colonel Hux, if you remember."

"That I do. Mr. Hux is blessed with such happy manners," said Solo in a bitter tone that seemed to say the opposite, "that he is sure of making new friends wherever he may go. Whether he is capable of retaining them—remains to be seen."

"Has he been so unfortunate as to lose your friendship, as well as that of Miss Paige?" inquired Rey as they turned round about again.

"That is my own business," he said shortly, when they met and took each other's gloved hands, stepping carefully up the line. "Miss Paige, I fear, has lost his friendship. I am sorry for it."

"Irreversibly?" asked Rey, interest piqued.

"Yes," he snapped, and when they met face-to-face again, his eyes were blazing. "Why do you ask such a question?"

"To make out firstly, why Hux has not come, and secondly, to make out your character," she said, facing him head-on.

"What have you discovered, then?" he asked, far too close to her for comfort. Even through the lilacs and the muddled scents of the room, she could smell him: she desperately hoped it was not an inopportune time for him.

"Nothing. Or, very little. I hear such different accounts of you as puzzle me exceedingly," she said. "And your own behavior seems mercurial enough so as to vex me."

"I hope to afford you more clarity in the future, madam," he said shortly. The dance had come to an end: they bowed to each other, and Rey quickly moved away, heart beating a mad staccato in her breast as Solo turned and strode for the hall.

Not even the most vulgar of villagers in Niima would venture to speak the word _rut_ in regard to a man's condition, just as the words _alpha_ and _omega_ were considered so improper as to be offensive, but she could not help think that he must be upon the verge of such a condition—it was known that particular men had certain times appointed as particular women (as herself) did, but what that entailed precisely she did not know. For her own difficulties, as Lady Solo called them, she kept to her rooms at Queen's Rise, shivering and sweating her way through indignities the like of which were entirely unspeakable, and afterward wrapping herself in a piano-shawl and eating hot broth to get her strength back. What a man might suffer, she dreaded to think.

Rey darted back through the arch to the hall: Rose was nowhere to be seen, and neither was Paige. It was, then, an opportune time to make for the ladies' retiring room. Rey hurried round the pillars. What had Rose told her were the rooms set aside? The drawing room, and the—oh, what was it? Morning room? Library? It must be the drawing room for the ladies, the morning room for gentlemen, then. Quickly, her satin-slippered feet moving silent as a mouse, Rey pushed a great velvet curtain aside and behind it, the walnut door, which opened on well-oiled hinges that made no sound at all. It was quiet and dim within, lit only by candlelight and the roaring fire. As Rey's eyes adjusted to the light, she breathed a sigh of relief: safe at last, in the confines of a room where no man might walk!

The breath she took, however, was tinged in deep, dark, male scent, and seemed to catch her by the throat. With growing alarm as she stepped closer to the fire, Rey realized she had been in error—first of all, this was not the drawing room, neither was it the morning room—it was the library—even worse, this was _not_ the ladies' room, it was the _men's_ , and worst of all, the broad-shouldered figure of Mr. Solo was leaning against the carved bookshelves, arms outstretched and black head bent between them, in an expression of agony.

She meant to depart as silently as she had come, but she seemed to become all clumsiness as her heart lodged in her throat, and her foot struck against the leg of a table, which brought him about at once, eyes fixed on her with a burning passion of feeling that forced her back, her handkerchief pressed to her nose.

"Get out," he snarled, hoarse and furious. "Out!"

Rey did not need to be told twice. She turned, dropping her handkerchief, and raced for the door in a most unladylike fashion, but in all the panic and struggle, her fingers had turned to clay—or perhaps the lock was old and rusty—whatever the reason, she could not get the door open no matter how she tried. Dreadful thoughts raced through her mind as she fought the latch and his footsteps approached: he would attack her, she would shame herself, he would disgrace his family and his name, the _horror_ of it—

"Miss Skywalker," he said, in a very soft tone, as if bridling something awful just beneath.

She turned, ready to scratch his eyes out if need be, but found him only standing there with her handkerchief held between thumb and forefinger, as if it was some distasteful thing he had found on the ground. His stock was undone, exposing a shockingly pale throat dotted with beauty-marks as his face was, but she hardly noticed that for the burning eyes sinking into hers. "Sir?" she ventured.

"You have dropped this," he said, every word sounding as if it was torn from his throat.

She reached up and took it, and her fingers, though gloved in finest silk, still felt the awful heat of his skin. Solo froze, and she tugged the little piece of scented cloth from his hand. "Thank you," she whispered, trying very hard not to breathe, now that he was so close. He seemed to be ill—at any rate his mouth had gone very white, which she noticed as his lips parted and he drew breath, far too close to her to be safe, in this closed dark room!

His eyes went as black as coal, and he jerked himself back in an ungracious and ungainly manner before righting himself and reaching for her—she braced herself for any myriad of indignities, and prepared to kick him—but his arm only reached past her and unlatched the door.

"Go," he said again, a note of urgency to his voice, and she fled for the safety of company and the lilacs.

* * *

The festivities continued into the early morning, though with the unexpected absence of Hux, they were not as merry as they might have been, especially for poor Lady Haynes, who spent half the evening putting on a brave face and the other half keeping company with a bottle of port. Rey vowed to stay as long as she could, to bolster up the Tico sisters, and by the time the sun was rising, she was nodding off and wrapped in a shawl, huddled with Rose in the foyer as Paige and her mother saw off all the other guests. Lady Solo had long since retired to an upstairs bedroom, and was by now pleasantly snoring in a feather-bed.

"You ought to take my room," said Rose with a terrific yawn. "I shall sleep with Paige: she'll be ever so upset, though she won't show it. Don't fall asleep in your corset, for nothing is more uncomfortable."

"I shouldn't dream of it," said Rey, half-asleep. "Shall many other guests be staying here today?"

"Not many, I should think…" and Rose's voice faded into a dream, a dream where Rey was whirling round a dance floor that kept sucking at her feet, trapping her in the centre with Mr. Solo, who appeared and thundered at her that she had dropped her handkerchief. A thousand bits of linen rained down, and she kept trying to catch them up to wash them, but couldn't, and then she found herself washing the linen on the ballroom floor while everyone pointed and laughed…

Rey jolted up with a start of fright. She was on a large, four-poster bed in a fine bedroom, piled with silk coverlets and pillows, and she had, unfortunately, fallen asleep in her corset—she was still wrapped in the shawl, the fringe of which had tangled about her wrists. _Who put me to bed?_ she thought, dazed, as she slipped out, drawing the curtains aside and peering at the bright sunshine outside.

It was near noon, judging by both the sun and the clock on the mantel: she had slept for a good seven hours. Quickly, she made her way to the washbasin and stripped down to her skin: the wrinkles of her chemise had left creases in her skin all over, and a good vigorous washing would do her attitude wonders. After that was done, she set her ball gown aside and searched for something to wear: most of Rose's gowns were too large in the bosom for her and too short in the hem, and she realized she did not know if borrowing clothes so freely was customary among young ladies: would Rose take offense or think her forward? She paused to think, clutching the towel to her breast. What a plight she found herself in! "This," she said aloud to the walls, "is what you get for putting on so many airs, Rey."

Well, there was nothing for it, and one could not go about naked: she took the oldest and shabbiest dress she could find and put it on over her own chemise, and thought it becoming enough. Her hair, still a mass of tangles from the ball, she pinned up as best she could, and went down to find breakfast.

Lady Solo was already up, and dressed, and eating a soft-boiled egg and tea with Lady Haynes. "The rogue," she was saying as Rey came in, "to do such a thing—why, there you are, Rey!"

"Ma'am," said Rey, and curtsied to the both of them. "Thank you for your hospitality, Lady Haynes; it was a wonderful ball."

"Oh, what a dear thing you are," said Lady Haynes. "Go along to the library—the girls are taking their breakfast in there with Mr. Solo and, I think—Mr. Namit."

Rey blinked. With Mr. Solo, indeed! "I shall, thank you."

* * *

The breakfast room's windows were wide open to the late summer day, the lazy buzzing of insects and chirping of birds making a cheerful chorus indeed to the song of the gossiping young people inside. Rey lingered a moment by the door, and realized to her great amazement that Mr. Solo was telling a humorous tale about a dog and hay in a manger, except it sounded as if the dog might be Mr. Hux and the hay might be Paige, and Paige was laughing so heartily that one might have never known her to be distressed at all. She felt all at once that she would ruin the story if she stepped inside, and so waited until he had finished the tale before entering and curtseying politely.

"Good morning," she whispered, painfully awkward and suddenly crushed by the knowledge that she was dressed all wrong. Rose and Paige were in filmy morning-gowns, as gossamer as cobwebs with lace collars done to the throat, and here was Rey, looking shabby in a dowdy old day-dress. It was too horrible. She wanted to sink into the floor at once.

Mr. Solo got out of his chair immediately, standing upright with a start, and Mr. Namit followed suit quickly after. "Good morning," he said, sounding just as stiff and awkward as she felt; nothing of the humorous man she had heard behind the door remained here.

"I—I am so sorry," Rey managed. "I—I had no clothes—"

"Oh, goodness, of course not!" exclaimed Rose, and swept to her side. "Gracious, Paige, how thoughtless of us: to not lay out a single morning-gown for our guest when she had none. We ought to be ashamed."

Paige looked chastised. "I do apologize, Miss Rey. I shall take you up at once, and find you a gown to wear."

"Leave her be," said Solo, sitting, suddenly absorbed in the morning paper and paying not a whit of attention to the goings-on about him. "I am sure we can dispense with social custom in such a small group, and aside from that, the lady is likely famished."

Rey took her seat, and helped herself to the toast and tea and eggs offered, and soon began to feel more at ease as the conversation flowed. Mr. Namit inquired as to how she found the ball, and went on at great length about the finery of the house, and how much it compared and did not compare to some place called Gatalenta Park; in the course of the meal she learned that he was hoping to be bestowed the position of a clergyman in a rather large and well-off parish, courtesy of his patroness, a Lady Holdo. "I believe," he said, over his herring and toast, "that she is an acquaintance of Lady Solo, your own kind friend—or is she rather an aunt?"

"Miss Skywalker is of no blood relation to myself," said Solo coolly.

"A shame, indeed, for I should give a good hundred pounds to have such a cousin as she," said Paige, sipping her chocolate. "Accomplished, and of great sweetness, and a practical mind: what more might one desire?"

"Truly," said Mr. Namit, "it astonishes me that young ladies have the patience to be so accomplished."

"What do you mean, sir?" asked Rose.

He looked perplexed at having to explain himself, but pressed on. "Well: that they all paint, or embroider, or play the piano. I have never heard of a young lady but that people say she is accomplished. It is, I believe, a sweet compliment that ladies often like to hear, applied to themselves, and one which I endeavor to bestow at every turn." He missed Rose and Rey exchanging a particular look between themselves.

"The word," said Solo, "is applied far too liberally." His eyes flashed to Rey for a moment, so quickly that she was sure she had imagined it. "I cannot boast of knowing more than half a dozen ladies that are truly accomplished."

"Goodness," said Rey with as much mildness as she could, "you must take the word to encompass a great deal."

"Oh, pay him no mind," said Rose, smiling. "In Mr. Solo's opinion a lady must have a thorough knowledge of horse and dog breeding, music, art, singing, dancing, and the modern languages to deserve the title of Accomplished."

"And she must improve her mind," said Solo, seemingly oblivious to the fact that he was being teased, "by regular exercise, by reading often, and by possessing a healthy appetite."

Rey put her fork down as delicately as possible. "I am no longer shocked, sir, at you knowing only six accomplished women. It is a marvel beyond words to me that you know any."

Mr. Namit choked on his sherry, and Solo frowned at her. "Are you then so severe on your own sex?"

"I never in my life have seen such a lady, and if she exists, she would be a fearsome thing to behold," said Rey.

"Shall we go for a walk about the garden, Miss Skywalker?" said Paige, rising gracefully.

"Oh, I should like that," said Rey, eagerly standing. The two gentlemen stood at once.

"Mr. Solo, shall you join us?" asked Paige.

Solo shook his head. "You can only have two motives, Miss Tico, and I should not like to interfere with either of them."

"Whatever can he mean?" Paige said to Rey, pretending to look shocked.

"Our surest way," said Rey, feeling wickedly bold with the Tico girls at her side, "to discover it shall be to ask him nothing about it: it will be a disappointment."

"You are very correct in saying so," said Page, "but my curiosity must be satisfied: do tell us, Mr. Solo!"

For the first time, a glint of humor appeared in Solo's dark eye. "Very well. You are either in each other's confidence and have secret affairs to discuss—or you are conscious that your figures appear to the greatest advantage while taking the air. If it is the first, I should be in your way. If it is the second, I can appreciate the view very well from the windows."

"Oh, how very shocking!" said Paige, tucking her arm into Rey's elbow. "Quick, think: how shall we punish him for such a speech?"

"Tease him without mercy," said Rey, nearly stunned that she was enjoying herself so much.

Paige smiled. "That shan't do: Mr. Solo hates being laughed at."

Rey affected an expression of great surprise. "Dear me, have we found a fault in him? Are you so very sensitive, Mr. Solo?"

Solo's eyes fell upon her. "Not at all. Perhaps my only fault is that I find it difficult to forgive the follies and vices of others. My good opinion, once lost, cannot be gained again by anyone."

"Well, we certainly cannot tease you about that," said Rey, on the threshold of the door to the back gardens. "What a pity. I do love to laugh."

* * *

They departed Otomok Abbey that afternoon, and Rey curtsied politely to Lord and Lady Haynes, made her farewells to the girls, and let Mr. Namit kiss her hand on the way out. "A most gratifying acquaintance you have made, Miss Skywalker," he said, smiling.

"You must come and stay any time you are passing by, or feeling poorly, or—" Rose pleaded.

"Gracious, Rose: we are not a town-house," said Paige, but kissed Rey on the cheek and whispered, "Oh, please do come any time, or we shall be bored to tears."

Last of all was Mr. Solo, tall and dark and stern of face as he assisted his mother into the carriage. "Goodbye, Mother," he said.

"Are you coming to Queen's Rise at any time in the autumn?" asked Lady Solo. "We have kept your rooms ready."

For the first time, Solo seemed taken off his guard. "I may," he replied, and once Lady Solo was securely put away, he turned to Rey and bowed stiffly as she dipped a curtsey.

"Mr. Solo," she murmured, trying to evade his help as she stepped up. Her borrowed dress, too long, caught in the step, and Solo's large hand steadied hers as she worked it free, unconsciously clinging to his fingers for balance. Realizing far too late that his bare hand was curled around hers, she turned in surprise, but he was already gone, walking back toward the house.

She saw his right hand, the one that had been clinging to hers, flex open, fingers splayed, then curl back into a fist, as if shaking off the memory of touching her, before Mr. Dameron clucked at the horses and carried them away, back, back to Queen's Rise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will be updating every morning/evening/day! I hope you enjoy. Merry Christmas!


	4. Chapter 4

Papa Luke was not recovering whatsoever, and continued to worsen as fall drew closer to winter. Lady Solo called doctors from miles round, and they all came to prod and poke and look, and they all said the same thing: that Mr. Skywalker had got consumption, and would likely not live past Christmas.

Rey spent her days sitting by his bed, reading to him until her voice grew hoarse and insisting on helping the nurses tend to everything he needed, even though they told her that it was not a task for young ladies. "I am no young lady," she said, with the resolve of steel, and so the nurses relented, and let her do as she pleased.

The windows were shut so that no cold air would assail his lungs: Lady Solo fretted about a trip to Bath—would it help? Would it harm?—and Rey paced about, the drab old things she had once worn as a washerwoman fluttering about her like moth's wings, in terror that Papa Luke would die and leave her all alone in the world.

What had her first memory been? Certainly not her parents: she did not remember them in the slightest and had not cared one whit for them, since whoever they had been, they had left her with Plutt—but Mr. Skywalker had at last treated her like a father ought to treat a daughter, and the thought of losing him was intolerable. She had not understood what she had had until she was about to lose it, and wept often and tempestuously in the halls of Queen's Rise, on the rare occasion that she was not in Papa Luke's rooms.

Mr. Solo did not visit at all. October passed, and November was in its second week, and still he did not come, despite the letters Lady Solo sent to him every week. Rey swore to hate him again and again, and stormed the halls up and down, vowing that should she see him, she would shoot him dead—duel him—beat him with a bed-warmer! The man had no heart, it was plain to see, and Rey could not remember hating anyone more in her life, with the exception, perhaps, of Plutt.

* * *

Very late, in the early morning of December the first, when all the world was still and silent and black as soot, Mr. Luke Skywalker sat up in bed with a start, making Rey jump up in alarm from her place at his side. Lady Solo, in her place by the fire, leaned forward. "Luke?" she asked, voice gone soft for a moment, as if they were young and fearless again. "Luke, what is it?"

Mr. Skywalker stared off for a moment, his eyes fixed on something they could not see, something far beyond any mortal ken, and it sent a chill up Rey's spine, for suddenly she knew that Death walked here in Queen's Rise, as real and solid as she herself. "Mother," he said, clear and strong.

"Papa Luke," Rey whispered, but he did not answer. He only lay back down with a sigh, like a child going back to sleep after a nightmare, and shut his eyes, and after a moment Rey realized that he was not breathing any more, and that his face had gone waxy and still.

A wail burst from her mouth, a horrible, horrible sound that rent the night open from top to bottom, and she flung herself upon the bed as Lady Solo covered her face with her handkerchief and began to weep. "Oh, my brother," she cried, "my brother!"

Neither of them noticed that a third person was in the room until Rey looked round, the hair on the back of her neck standing up, and her heart leaped into her throat before sinking back down: she had thought the intruder Death himself, with a white face and cloaked in black, but both the nose and the scent that suddenly permeated the room revealed that it was Mr. Solo—Mr. Solo! With a scream of fury, she tore herself from the bed and flung herself at him, all a rage, as she beat upon him with her fists and he struggled with her. "You utter _beast_!" she howled. "You never came, you never came, and we wrote you every week for months, he is _dead,_ dead, and you _never cared_ —" She gave up, all her anger gone out of her suddenly, and collapsed to the floor, sobbing, "He's dead, he's dead."

"I am sorry," said Solo, stricken and pale, "that I have come at such an unseemly hour. I came as fast as I could."

"Yes," said Lady Solo coldly, drying her eyes, "I am sure that all your fashionable events in London were of the most importance, and not your dying uncle, my own brother."

"I—I will make arrangements for the funeral," he muttered, as if in apology. "I might do that, at the least."

"Go and look at him," Rey whispered, from her spot on the floor. "Look at him. You owe him that, Mr. Solo."

Unwillingly, Solo obeyed, as if drawn to his uncle by force, and stared into the dead man's face, with its shut eyes and mouth. "So shall we all end," he said softly, and touched Luke's hand with a finger, almost gently. "Good-bye, Uncle."

Rey burst into fresh tears, and over her own keening heard Solo inquire of his mother some question pertaining as to the appropriateness of her emotional outbursts, to which Lady Solo sharply replied, "She has been at his beck and call for three and a half months, you great ninny, and has barely gotten rest in all that time: were I the girl, I should be weeping for relief that I may sleep again at last." She did not hear much after that, so great was her grief, until the sweetest, darkest scent assailed her senses again, and she looked up, blind with tears, to see Solo kneeling down before her.

"Up with you," he said, not unkindly. "We must put you to bed."

"I cannot leave him," said Rey. "You do not understand, Mr. Solo: he was the only thing on this earth I had akin to a father and now he is gone."

"I do understand," he said, so quietly that she thought she might have imagined it. "Shall you sleep here, then? He shall not be disturbed, whatever you choose. I give you my word."

Rey bit her lip, endeavoring to hold back her emotions. She felt dizzy and weak, and remembered that all she had eaten all day had been a bowl of porridge fourteen hours ago, and nothing more. "My rooms," she whispered, and when she stood, her head swam, and the floor seemed to tilt on an axis before she landed, cradled with the utmost care, in a man's very firm arms.

She became aware that the man was Mr. Solo as they were half-way down the upstairs hall. "I can walk," she protested, half-terrified that his closeness would set something dreadful off within her. "Please, sir, you needn't—"

"You had fainted," he informed her, and perhaps it was her imagination, but did his fingers tighten, just fractionally, on her knee? "I consider it my duty to see any young woman who my mother holds in such high regard safely escorted to her room, in such cases."

"Do you consider it necessary to carry them as if they are a great sack of flour?" she asked, not knowing what to do with her hands, and settling for folding them under her chin. He did not seem to be greatly burdened by her in the slightest.

"No, not in the usual course of events," he responded, and carried her directly into her room (a great indignity, and shockingly indecent, as she understood it: men did not enter women's rooms unescorted) whereupon he deposited her with great care onto her chaise, and stepped back. "Shall I call Tallie to dress you for bed?" he asked.

"You are taking liberties with me, sir," she said, affronted, as she drew her knees up to her chest.

"I did not intend to cause you distress," he said, looking suddenly chastised.

"No? You are a constant cause of it."

"How am I so?" he demanded.

Rey could not hold it in any longer. "You have resented me for reasons I cannot fathom, from the day we met; you take delight in commenting upon my lack of good birth, my manners, my _faux pas_ , my habits; you refuse to answer your mother's letters and appear the moment your uncle passes from this world, and now— _now_ , you pretend suddenly that you are a picture of duty and care toward me, and I do not know why, when you and I both know that nothing could be further from the truth."

Solo was very quiet, and in the silence between them she could smell him. Without anything to mask the scent of him at all, she could pick out the flavors she fancied she smelt: sweet, dark musk like tobacco or leather, the sharpness of brandy, the sweetness of vanilla, and somewhere deep under it all the good wholesomeness of bread baking. Her mouth began to water, and she knew this was dangerous, _very_ dangerous: it was said once a man of his persuasion began down that awful path there was no turning back, and some even said even a touch of the hand could fling an A into an awful frenzy. His eyes were dark as he leaned forward, gazing directly at her: her lips parted, ever so slightly, and she fought her own nature passionately as she struggled not to embrace him. Against every reasonable thought in her mind, against how much she loathed him, in the face of _that smell_ she desired him: to feel the strength of his body against hers, to dash herself to pieces on him like a ship on the rocks, to let him _have_ her—! Solo stood up suddenly, and she looked away, ashamed of herself, as he stepped back. "No," he said quietly. "I expect—no. I will go, and be with my mother. I am sorry for the distress I have caused you, and for my behavior. It was not done with malicious intent. Forgive me."

"Get _out_ ," she whispered, her hands trembling, and he bowed stiffly, then went.

* * *

The funeral was well-attended and took place only two weeks before Christmas: the ground was half-frozen and they could not dig quickly enough to bury him sooner. Rey stood at Lady Solo's side in black silk and gloves, both in full mourning, and wept openly as the casket was lowered while the minister read a psalm and prayed for the Resurrection.

Solo stood at his mother's other side, in his blacks, and was silent and cold as a stone bust, his large nose red with cold and a sullen expression on his dour face. He had good reason to be angry, Rey knew, for Lady Solo's barrister had come to call and informed Rey three days before the funeral that Mr. Luke Skywalker had willed every last pound of money he possessed to her and her alone, which made her one of the wealthiest young women in the country nearly overnight. She did not want the money: she had no reason to want anything other than her Papa Luke back and whole and alive again. She entertained thoughts of walking back into the house, once this was all over, to find that it had all been a silly mistake, and that he would be sitting at the fire, smiling and saying "Welcome back, dear ladies" to herself and Lady Solo—but she knew in her heart that he was gone forever, and nothing would bring him back.

The service ended, the guests filed back to Queen's Rise in a somber parade, and at their head was Lady Solo, silent and serene, flanked by her son and her brother's young heiress. There was a small luncheon, Paige and Rose held Rey by the hands and promised to write, but for Rey, it seemed to pass as if it was a dream from which she could not wake.

She came to her senses, so to speak, as she sat by the fire in the library, where she had not moved all day. Evening had fallen, and the maids were bustling about, setting the table for dinner. "How many for supper?" she asked, out of habit.

"Only two, ma'am," said one of them, dipping a curtsey. "Lady Solo and Mr. Solo—and yourself, of course."

"Thank you," said Rey, rising. "Please send a tray up to my room. If anyone inquires as to my absence, tell them I am indisposed."

"As you wish, ma'am," said the maid.

* * *

Christmas passed without any cheer. Winter drew on, cold and bleak without Papa Luke. Rey drifted about the great house, sometimes exploring the unused wings, sometimes reading, sometimes sitting alone. Five hundred thousand pounds, and all of it hers, and here she was, choked by grief with nothing to do and no one to see but the ghosts of Queen's Rise.

On one occasion she stumbled across an old nursery, with a pair of ancient cots, and another room, an unused study that was clearly kept dusted and clean by the maids, but in which the things on the desk and the curio shelves and even the chairs had not been moved or touched in decades. Rey crept in the door, feeling interested for the first time in a long time, and saw a pair of portraits on the wall, in the old Georgian style: a man in one frame and a woman in the other, and both of them stared out at her with oil-paint eyes. The lady had dark hair, curled atop her head, and wore the most fantastic gown that Rey had ever seen: blue and green and dripping with white flowers and pearls and lace, and her face was kind and gentle, with a smile playing at the corners. The gentleman had un-powdered light brown hair clubbed back in a queue, a brown velvet coat, and a face that Rey could not decide the mood of, whether he be kind or cruel. The artist had painted a thin scar on his cheek, and she thought he looked rather like a pirate. She stepped closer and reached up to look at the plate on the frame, and read the names aloud: the woman was Padmѐ Amidala, Marquise of Naberrie, and the gentleman was Sir Anakin Skywalker, Duke of—

"Organa," said Lady Solo's voice, soft and tired. Rey whirled around, surprised and mortified, but the lady shook her head and came into the room. "Duke of Organa. Normally, as you know, a title reserved for someone close to royalty: he could have been a prince, if only he had been a better man."

"What was he like?" Rey asked, her curiosity piqued.

"Terrible," said Lady Solo shortly. "If Luke was still living, he would tell you that our father was not all bad, that there was decency left in the man in the end, but I never saw such a thing. He was given far too much power during the wars in the Forties: ships, men. All was for the good of Imperial Britain—except his marriage. Oh, the King was furious to find out he had married an enemy Frenchwoman."

"Enemy? She does not strike me as particularly villainous," said Rey, looking at the Marquise of Naberrie. 

"She was not," Lady Solo said. "She was perfectly wonderful, according to all who knew her, and a bluestocking of the highest order. My father worshipped the very ground she walked on." For a moment the lady gazed up at her mother's picture, and something passed across her old face for a moment. "It got her killed, in the end."

"How awful," said Rey, shocked. "How did she die?"

Lady Solo looked resolute. "Some said my father murdered her in a fit of passion. Others say she perished of a broken heart. It does not matter: she is dead."

"I am sorry for it," said Rey. "And how—how did he die?"

Lady Solo's eyes glided across her, and Rey got the distinct impression that she was pressing into an old, old wound. "It is high time for dinner," she said. "My son has fled off to London, or to someone else's house in the country; it does not matter where, I suppose. Shall you join me?"

Rey did not want to join the lady, not with the way she was looking at her. "I am—I am very sorry," she said quickly. "I oughtn't to be such an imposition on you."

Lady Solo sighed. "You are the only company I have had in a good long time, apart from the visits from my son, and those are few and far between. But if you must go, you must: I know Chandrila's Run is available to let, or to sell, and it is not too large."

"I have no people, no staff," said Rey quietly. "You are very kind, but I should not know the first thing about running a house properly."

"That," said Lady Solo, "is what a butler is for. Come along to dinner, then, and we shall speak more on the subject at our own leisure."

* * *

January gave way to February, and February to March, and soon the snow had all gone and it was warm enough again to open the drawing-room windows and sit in the sunshine for breakfast. Rey spent the first week of April indisposed and trembling in her rooms, drenched in sweat and wrapped in a sheet, as her skin was too feverish and tender to bear the touch of clothing. Somehow that one was worse than the others she remembered, and lasted a day longer than it ought to, which worried her until it had all ended, and she was able to put her chemise back on and rejoin the household. _I ought to be thankful,_ she thought, as she descended the stairs one morning for tea, _that it is not the Middle Ages, and I am not confined to a hut in the forest for the duration of the whole business._ She was still in plain black, as was appropriate for mourning, and wished she was afforded the luxury a widow was: to receive no visitors—alas, that was not the case, as she found when she reached the foyer.

"Miss Skywalker," said Mr. Namit, hat tucked under his arm. He bowed low as she stepped foot on the fine marble of the floor, a black armband respectfully tied about his sleeve the only sign of mourning. She could not blame him, after all; he had not been closely acquainted with Mr. Skywalker.

"Mr. Namit," she said. "I did not know you were coming."

"Forgive me for the imposition," he said, "but I was passing by, and thought to call on you."

"I have been ill lately," she told him, "and besides that, my lady Solo and myself are still in full mourning. I do not think it seemly for you to be here, sir."

"Of course," he said, looking embarrassed. "Of course. I wished to convey my deepest condolences on the loss you have both suffered. When you are out of mourning, however, it would be my great pleasure to accompany you to any engagements you wish to attend—say, at Otomok Abbey, or anywhere else."

"Goodness," said Rey faintly, and looked at Mr. Namit again: he was fair-haired and grey-eyed, slender, and taller than she. He presented no true threat to her at all, or at least, only the threat any man might present to any woman, and smelt only of leather and the outdoors. As escorts went, perhaps he was not the worst option she had. "Well, I shall set aside my surprise at finding you here, sir, and say that should you wish to accompany me to Otomok Abbey, I shall not turn you down when the time comes."

He smiled brightly. "I shall certainly hold you to it, Miss Skywalker. Good day."

When he had gone, Lady Solo came out of the drawing-room, where she had been listening at the door. "Namit? I believe I am acquainted with the gentleman," she said, sitting down. "He is patronized by my friend, Lady Holdo, of Gatalenta Park."

"Yes, he has mentioned her before," said Rey.

Lady Solo considered this. "Hm. Well, you could do worse in a husband."

"Husband! Husband!" Rey was astonished. "I certainly wish no such thing for myself."

"Well, you will have to put up with gentlemen coming from miles round to court you, mark my words," said Lady Solo. "You are an heiress now, my dear."

"Oh, Lord save me," said Rey wearily.

* * *

Three months passed, during which Rey tried to make excuses for staying longer in mourning, but Lady Solo would have none of it, and ran her up a new wardrobe full of fashionable things to wear once she was out again. "You ought to dress your part," she said, time and again, but at present the only part Miss Skywalker wished to play was the part of an old maid.

At last, July came, and she stepped out in lavender silks, her first social event to be a tea at Otomok Abbey. Mr. Namit was awaiting her in the foyer, and happily took her hand and escorted her into the carriage, going on and on again at length about the weather, and how fine she looked in color once more, and how glad he was to be out and back to the Abbey, but o! how the abode of the Tico family did not stand up for one moment to the splendor and luxury of Gatalenta Park! Rey began to remember why he had been so exhausting a person to dance with, and silently cursed her fortune as they bumped along in the carriage.

Once arrived, Rose met her at the step, and embraced her. "Oh, how lovely it is to see you again!" she said, beaming. "And you, Mr. Namit."

"I am honored, Miss Tico," he said, doffing his hat. "May I say that you look the picture of elegance and fashion? Why, you look to me just as a very fine portrait done of one of Lady Holdo's relations, a portrait that is rather kept in a cupboard at Gatalenta Park, so as not to damage the oils."

"A portrait in a cupboard, am I?" said Rose lightly.

"I believe Mr. Namit means to make a compliment," said Rey, looking very hard at Rose and pressing her lips together so as not to laugh. "Why, you see, any portrait done of any one of Lady Holdo's relations must be as fine as the Sistine Chapel, and like to make angels emerge and sing a psalm, if only for the reason that the subjects share that lady's most noble and illustrious blood."

"Ah, I see now," said Rose, curtseying. "Please do come inside: Mr. Namit, there is a game of whist going on in the library for the gentlemen and the ladies are all at tea." Mr. Namit kissed their hands and hurried off, and both women doubled over in giggles at his departure.

"Oh, save me," Rey gasped, wiping her eyes. "He's an awful bore. I can't think what I ever saw in him, and now I find myself trapped."

"Perhaps he shall find a deaf wife, and thereby make a most happy match," Rose said, eyes sparkling. "Do you truly not like him, Rey?"

"He is so entirely puffed up with attentions from his Lady Holdo that I am afraid he shall be unable to take any from another lady, not even a wife." Rey took off her bonnet. "How is Paige? I wrote in June, but received no reply."

"Oh, she is well. She is keeping very busy, and says she is quite over Mr. Hux, but I don't believe a word of it." Rose sighed. "We ought to come and call on you at the Rise: it is not fair that you should always be coming to us."

"I might ask Lady Solo about a ball, then," said Rey, already feeling a bit more cheerful.

* * *

The tea was marvelously good, and all the ladies treated her with a good deal more respect than they had used to. Rey entertained thoughts of marching onto the fine lawn and starting a wash-fire to show them all how to wash their own chemises, but her thoughts kept going back—oddly, to Mr. Solo. What had he said the day they had met? "Money cannot buy good breeding or taste." And how right he had been! Mrs. Tico's gown was a gaudy mass of gold silks that would have looked fine to Rey a year ago, but now, with her sight refined by proximity to Lady Solo and the fashion plates brought from Paris and London, she only looked like gilt: all glitter and no weight. Paige looked the very picture of decency in her light green gown: perhaps there was something inherent in a person's body or way of carriage that affected their good sense of taste. Whatever it was, it did not seem tied to money at all, but to a person's very character.

After they had finished, Paige insisted on taking a walk with Rey round the garden, and took Rose along as well. "You have no idea how much we have missed you," she said, arm in arm with her, and Rose on the other side. "Gracious, but every fête and tea and evening has been as dull as rain without you. We are ever so glad you are out again."

"Indeed we are, even if it is on the arm of a terrible stuffy bore," said Rose.

"Who? Surely not Mr. Namit!" Paige looked about, as if worried the gentleman would appear suddenly. "But he danced so well with you, Rey!"

"No, his dancing is fine, but his conversation is most unpalatable," Rey whispered. "All he speaks about is his patroness, and her home, and how everything in all the world is dingy and dull compared to it and her. I believe he could stand before the King in Buckingham and turn up his nose, for the Queen is not Lady Holdo and the palace is not Gatalenta Park!"

Rose dissolved into giggles, but Paige merely raised a fine eyebrow. "Mr. Namit? Hasn't he some excellent prospects from Lady Holdo? He told us about it at tea just last week: he is to become a parson after all, and starts in his new parish next month. The house and all expenses are to be paid for in exchange for his services."

Rey was surprised. "Has he! has he indeed? He spoke nothing of it to me."

"Perhaps he did not get a chance to," said Rose.

"Oh, I assure you, my dear Rose, that is quite an impossibility, as he had the reins of the whole conversation from Queen's Rise to here." Rey patted her friend's hand. "Well, I am glad of it anyway, for Mr. Namit's sake."

"Come, it's so vulgar to speak about money," said Paige. "We shall take another turn and go inside."

* * *

The carriage ride back was nearly as awful as the ride there, tempered only by the fact that Mr. Namit, upon exhausting himself due to speech, fell asleep in the carriage, leaving Rey in blessed silence until they pulled up to the portico of Queen's Rise, whereupon he shook himself, started up, and said, "Hallo, are we here?"

"Yes, we are, thank you: I shall let myself in, do not worry about it," said Rey, already half out of the carriage.

"Oh, dear, no, Miss Skywalker: what a thought!" He stumbled out of the carriage, stock askew. "I shall escort you: please accept my apologies for my indiscretion! What would Lady Holdo think?"

"I assure you, it is no trouble—" Rey tried to flee, but he caught her elbow and took her up to the door anyway. "Really, Mr. Namit, I am perfectly capable of walking to the door on my own."

He ignored her and knocked, smiling blandly as the butler opened the door for them and welcomed Rey home. "I shall leave you in the most capable hands of Lady Solo, then."

"Thank you, sir," she said shortly, and curtsied before rushing inside and ripping her bonnet from her head in relief once alone in the house. "Oh, what a puffed-up poppycock!" she hissed, flinging the thing into a chair in the foyer.

"You must have had a thrilling time," said Lady Solo's dry tones from the morning-room door. "Tell me all about it."

Rey collected herself. "I should rather die than recount it all—the only pleasant parts involved conversations with the Tico sisters," she said firmly.

"Dear me, was Mr. Namit so unpleasant?" asked Lady Solo.

"Not unpleasant, I suppose, in the traditional way of unpleasantness, but his way of being pleasant is an agony to every person of sound mind that has the misfortune to witness it," Rey said. "Not a word passes his mouth but that I must hear about Lady Holdo or Gatalenta Park, and how poor and terrible all else in the world is beside them both."

Lady Solo shook her head. "He is a foolish man. That is certainly no crime: women have had foolish husbands and gotten on very well."

Rey tossed her head. "Foolish! He is altogether ridiculous, and I should be ashamed to be wife to a man such as that."

"He has good prospects," said Lady Solo. "My friend Amilyn—that is, Lady Holdo—has demanded he find a wife as quick as he can, and he already lives in a cottage on her estate."

"Who is this Lady Holdo, anyway?" Rey asked. "Is she truly as magnificent and miraculous as he says?"

Lady Solo's face split into a smile. "She is a widow of several years who lives with her only daughter, and she is perfectly ordinary, as I am: she has her faults like any other. Mr. Namit, like many of his status, are blinded by social status."

"Thank Heaven I am not," said Rey, crossing her arms.

"No, he is solidly middle-class, and you, my dear, were assuredly not, therefore your own sphere never crossed into anyone below or above you. Since you never crossed any below you, you never thought yourself great; since you never met anyone above you, you never thought them so much grander than yourself. How clarifying it must be, to be so young, and to think of all people as People only!"

"I believe you are teasing me, Lady Solo," said Rey, stung.

Lady Solo gave her a waspish smile. "Oh, not at all, my dear Rey: I simply wonder at the wisdom of turning down a man with good prospects simply because he annoys you."

Rey frowned. "I shall not marry for _prospects,_ Lady Solo; I have a fortune left to me and therefore have no need of a man with one."

"No? But you have no connections or family, my dear: no, do not look at me like that, it is true. If you wish to advance yourself into the society in which you have been thrust by fate, then you must learn all its intricacies, and that means accepting invitations and attending parties with people who may be unpleasant or even annoying."

If Rey's constitution had been able to afford even the slightest bit more of exasperation, she might have expressed it: as it was, she accepted Lady Solo's words and did her best to conform herself to this new way of thinking. After all, society meant more friends, and what good was money without friends? "Yes, Lady Solo. Perhaps we might hold a tea of our own, or a dance here again: once, of course, we are out of our mourning wholly. I should like to meet more people."

"A splendid idea!" said Lady Solo. "A girl of twenty like you ought to have fun, and go to parties, if she is not yet married: it shall be done."

* * *

Summer turned to autumn, and the woods round Queen's Rise turned to flaming scarlet, orange, and gold. Rey took long walks with the Tico sisters when they visited, gossiping about everything under the sun, and never enjoyed herself so much. Mr. Namit, invited by Lady Solo, came sometimes, now in his blacks with his collar flapping about in the wind, and went on at length about sermons, and hinted mightily that he wished to engage in that most holy practice of matrimony. Rey deflected his hints with ever more practiced shield, and so passed on the fall.

Mr. Solo made an appearance in early November, at the request of his mother. He looked thinner and sallow, with great hollows in his cheeks, and Lady Solo made much out of inquiring as to his health while Rey sat uncomfortably on a sofa and Mr. Namit sat in the armchair, beaming at Rey.

"I am perfectly well, thank you, Mother," he said coolly. "The air in London does not agree with me this time of year," but he looked at Rey intently, and she could smell some unidentifiable thing about him that suggested the onset of a great indecency, even over the flowers placed so thoughtfully in the room.

"You ought to stay in the country. Heaven knows any fine family will welcome you into their home, especially some I know that are looking to marry their daughters," said Lady Solo, casting a sharp eye upon her son.

"Oh," said Mr. Namit, blissfully oblivious, "matrimony is truly a glorious prospect, Mr. Solo. Why, I myself hope to be engaged soon, and I must say that the thought of it delights me."

"My congratulations," said Solo absently. "Who might the lady in question be?"

Mr. Namit turned to Lady Solo, all flushed. "Lady Solo, I should like to—to have a word with Miss Skywalker. In private," he added, as if an afterthought.

The reactions from every party were an astounding tableau portraying every conceivable human emotion: Rey went white as a sheet, and turned imploring eyes upon Lady Solo, who smiled brightly as if she did not see the stricken features before her, while Mr. Solo went quite as still as a statue before turning a malevolent eye upon Mr. Namit.

"Of course, of course," said Lady Solo, standing. "We shall leave you to it."

"No, no, please don't leave me," pleaded Rey, under her breath as she desperately tried to snatch at Lady Solo's hand. "I beg you, Lady Solo: Mr. Namit can have nothing to say to me that everyone cannot hear—"

"Benjamin, come along, now," said the lady, shaking off Rey.

Solo, who had not moved a muscle, rose up, very large and very threatening. "Namit," he said coolly, and exchanged a look with the other man that made Mr. Namit step back before he left the room with his mother, leaving Rey quite at the mercy of her suitor.

Mr. Namit stood, paced a bit, and came to stand before her. "Dearest Miss Skywalker," he said, "you can hardly be in doubt as to the purpose of my wishing to speak with you. My attentions, I know, have been too marked to be mistaken. Almost as soon as I saw you at the ball here, nigh on a year ago, I singled you out as the future companion of my life."

Rey could not speak. She simply gaped at him in horror. Mr. Namit must have mistaken it for delighted shock, so he pressed on.

"But," he said, "before I permit myself to succumb to the intensities and intricacies of my feeling towards you, let me state my reasons for why I wish to be married. Firstly, that it is the duty of a clergyman to set an example for those under his authority in his parish. Secondly, that I am convinced it shall add greatly to my own happiness—and thirdly, of course, being that my esteemed Lady Holdo has urged me to select a wife."

"Mr. Namit," began Rey, horrified as he dropped to one knee before her.

"So," he continued, "nothing now remains but to assure you of the great passion of my affections in the most—the most elegant language I can use, and to swear that nothing on the subject of your poor birth shall pass my lips once we are wed."

"Mr. Namit!" said Rey sharply. "You are too hasty, sir; you have forgot one thing that yet remains. I have made no answer to you."

"I must also add that Lady Holdo shall be most approving, when I speak to her on the subject of your modesty, your illustriousness and your compassion, and all your other admirable and feminine qualities," he said.

Rey went scarlet. Other _feminine qualities_ , was that how he was to describe her constitution? "Sir, I am honored by your proposal, but I regret to say I must decline it."

Mr. Namit chuckled dismissively. "I know young ladies have their ways, and do not seem to appear eager when courted by men—"

"I am perfectly serious, Mr. Namit. You could not make me happy and I am convinced I am the last, the very last woman in the world that would make you so."

Namit blinked in confusion. Obviously this turn of events had not occurred to the man. "I see. Your refusal is merely a natural delicacy of your sex and—and of your constitution. Besides that, you ought to take into account that despite your manifold attractions it cannot be certain that any other offer of marriage will be made to you, despite your fortune, seeing as how you came from nothing—"

Rey stood from her chair in outrage. "Mr. _Namit—"_

"So," he ended, "I must conclude that you seek to be coy and increase my love by suspense, such as is the usual practice of elegant and refined ladies of your consti—"

"Sir!" she snapped. "I am not the sort of _elegant lady_ to torment a respectable man. Please understand me once and for all. I cannot and I will not accept you!" She whirled on her heel and stormed for the door, flinging it wide to find Lady Solo listening at the key-hole, handkerchief pressed to her mouth. Whether it was to muffle amusement or horror, Rey did not know and she did not care. "Oh, out of my way!" she cried, and rushed past her to the safety of the stairs.

Mr. Solo was looming by the foot, and he looked up as she passed. "Declined, then?" he asked, eyes moving across her like mercury.

"Oh, as if _you_ give a fig," she said rudely, and fled up the stairs away from the whole sorry mess.


	5. Chapter 5

The next month passed in a great blur. Lady Solo chastised her weekly for not accepting Mr. Namit, who had withdrawn to nurse his wounded pride at several other great homes in the countryside—and may he stay there for ever! thought Rey. "Is your pride so great that you will only accept the Prince of Wales as a husband?" demanded Lady Solo.

"I do not think it so fantastic a prospect that I marry a man I care for, and who cares for me, and who does not insult me to my face on the matters of my birth," said Rey stonily. Thank Heaven Mr. Solo had stayed away from Queen's Rise for the winter, and gone back to London: she would not have been able to bear his presence at the moment. Rose Tico had returned to London to stay with her aunt for the season as well, sadly, and Rey found herself missing her friend most painfully. If only she had been presented—but now there was no hope for that, and she found herself sitting alone at her writing-desk, sending letter upon letter to Rose. _My dearest Miss Tico,_ she would begin it, _do tell me how London is in the winter, I should so like to go—_ and then, into the bin it would go, to be started afresh. _My dear Miss Tico, I have heard you are in London for the season, and desperately wish I could join you—_ alas! Nothing she wrote seemed to convey the depth of her pain, and nothing would do but that she see Paige, so she did: the ladies visited each other often, and got on splendidly.

A week before Christmas, she was walking round the house in the bitter sleet one afternoon when she happened upon the very girl herself, disembarking from the little coach so familiar and dear to Rey's heart. "Paige!" she cried, delighted, and ran to meet her, forgetting her decorum. "Why, it has only been a fortnight since I have seen you last! What has happened?"

"Oh, nothing so dreadful," said Paige, beaming down at her as she got out of the coach, with her fur muff and hat. "I only have some news that would not do to tell you in a letter, so I must needs come to see you."

"Well, come inside before you freeze," said Rey, and escorted her friend in, after making sure that Finn, the master of horse, had the horses and coachman well in hand. "Please, won't you sit and take tea?" 

"I shall, thank you," said Paige brightly, and sat, well warmed by the fine black tea and a hot cake. "Oh, Rey, I am so very happy," she said, watching the sleet come down outside the windows.

Rey smiled. "Pray tell me, what is the occasion? You still have not said."

Paige set her cup down. "Mr. Namit and I are engaged to be married in the spring," she said.

Rey's face fell at once. "Engaged? To Mr. Namit?"

"I do hope you are not upset too badly. He asked this morning, and I accepted." One of Rey's hands went to the velvet seat of her chair. She felt faint. "I know it is a surprise, especially so soon after he asked you."

"No," said Rey weakly. "No, that is not—"

"I am not a great romantic," said Paige quickly, flushing and looking down. "And I am practically minded, you understand, and what I lack—fortune and a particular constitution that some men find enticing—you possess, and what _you_ lack, family and connections and all the other nonsense—I possess."

"At least we both possess brains and some modicum of charm," said Rey, striving to find some humor. "But really, Paige! Mr. Namit!"

"I only want a comfortable home, and to be happy, and considering Mr. Namit's position, I have no reason to believe I shall not have both comfort and happiness."

"And that is all you wish for?" asked Rey, shocked. "Comfort and happiness?"

"For a woman in my situation, what else is there?" Paige asked.

"Don't speak like that!" Rey said, shocked.

"Rey, I am twenty-three and unmarried. If I do not accept Mr. Namit, it is not likely another proposal shall come my way, and after that I shall be left a penniless spinster once the house and property at Otomok Abbey are entailed to our cousin and we are turned out, and it shall fall to me to look after my mother and sister alone." Paige's eyes had gone stern and hard as iron. "I will not be a burden on the goodwill of others; rather I should seek the protection of marriage."

"And those are your only two choices?" asked Rey, shocked. "A burden, or wed to a man you do not love?"

"Yes," said Paige, very composed. "I shall write to you when we are married and settled at Gatalenta Park. Please do come. Promise me."

At once, Rey was embarrassed: of course Paige did not have any other choice! She had no fortune, no money at all despite the title, and was only being practical—she could not afford to be otherwise. Rey felt wholly ashamed of herself. "Of course I'll come," said she. "But, oh: you ought to write to Rose at once!"

Paige laughed. "I have taken the liberty of posting one already. Won't she be shocked?"

* * *

There was a Christmas masquerade ball planned at Otomok Abbey, in honor of Paige's engagement, and Rey excitedly agreed to come with Lady Solo. Rose would even make the journey from town specially, and had had a new gown made in London of the most modish style. The week leading up to the ball was full of anticipation, with Mr. Padgett-Oberly fussing over trims and lace and ribbons: Paige was to be a Roman empress, so Rey had vowed to go as a nymph and be in her train with Rose. Lady Solo had decided that despite masques being a young person's entertainment, she would happily go as a lady of the Elizabethan era, and obtained a cunning dress made to the form of that time, along with a great lacy ruff and a mask made in the form of a lady's face, with white paint and red lips. "I shall be a stranger to all," said she, holding it up and letting it down again with a laugh.

"Except to myself, of course!" Rey said, smiling as Mr. Padgett-Oberly held up a length of silk tissue against her chemise. The color was most interestingly dyed, like a sunrise: palest yellow at the top, then a mellow orange, then soft rose at her feet. She had never seen anything like it, and it had cost a pretty penny to have made. "I do hope I don't freeze to death," she said.

"Oh, have no fear: you will have your pick of my furs and carriage-robes." Lady Solo set her mask down. "And at the unmasking I am sure that every man in the room shall be half in love with you."

Rey rolled her eyes. "Oh, that is all you are concerned with. Let the night be about someone else, for once, dear Lady Solo."

"When you find yourself in possession of a young ward who must needs be married off and continually refuses, my dear Miss Rey, then you may impart to me your opinion on the matter," said Lady Solo. "Quick, go see if you can find my warmest boots: no one shall see them beneath my dress, and I mean to have them in hand well in advance."

* * *

It was snowing beautifully the afternoon they departed for Otomok Abbey, the clouds parting sometimes to let the sun shine down on the glittering banks that had begun to form about the walls and hedges of Queen's Rise. Rey got on her masquerade costume, thrilling with excitement, and rushed downstairs to meet Lady Solo, who was waiting patiently by the front door in all her Elizabethan finery. "You will not mind if Mr. Finn accompanies us as footman?" she asked, pulling on her gloves. "Our ordinary one has caught a shocking cold and cannot be expected to brave the weather."

"Of course not! I like the man well enough, and he will enjoy himself."

"Very well, then: let us go!" Lady Solo swept out like a great farthingaled ship, and Rey huddled in her furs after her, feeling like a foolish bear cub as she caught sight of Mr. Dameron, who had gotten into the spirit of the festivities: he wore a false beard and cap and looked the picture of Father Christmas.

She burst into a peal of laughter. "A happy Christmas to you, sir! Where is your sack?"

"Ah," said Dameron, affecting low tones, "I have left it unfortunately in the coach; you ladies must find it for me."

"You are a ridiculous man," said Lady Solo, laughing despite herself. Finn extended his hand to her, all garbed in his borrowed footman's finery. "Thank you, Finn."

"M'lady," he said, bowing, and helped Rey up with a wink. "Mind you keep your seat in the coach; miss, it's a lot less fun than being in the saddle."

"Oh, go on with you," said Rey, smiling with excitement of the fun that was to come. "And don't close the door on my skirt!"

Off they went, down the road and through the woods, over hill and field. The snow sparkled like diamonds, and Rey wrapped herself warmly and pressed her thin-slippered feet over the coalbox inside the coach. She was not given to flights of overt fancy, but she thought how nice it would be to meet some stranger at the ball, and dance with him—not all night, but perhaps a few dances, and he would be kind and gentle and treat her so finely—then at the unmasking she might discover him to be a gentleman that Lady Solo would approve of, with connections and family. Yes, that might be very fine indeed.

* * *

Otomok Abbey was aglow with torchlight and candle as they alighted from the carriage, rustling in their silks and brocades. The cold bit at Rey's cheeks and she hurried inside, clinging to Lady Solo with her mask fastened across her face, looking up in delight at the holly and mistletoe that hung from every inch of bare stone. The halls were packed full of people in costume, and a gold-masked sylph in palest green darted up and took Rey by the arm. "Fairest nymph!" she whispered in her ear, "the Queen awaits us!"

"Rose!" Rey whispered back as she let the footman take her coat. "Oh, you look marvelous!"

"Marvelously cold," said Rose, laughing as she took her by the hand and led her upstairs to the ladies' sitting-room. "Oh, I am glad to see you. London's dreadfully boring without my sister, and now she's _engaged_ : imagine it. I must always be last at everything, but I think I look very handsome in this—do you think I might catch some gentleman's eye?"

"Gracious, yes! You look a vision. If every man in the room is not in love with you by midnight then I shall be shocked." Rey went through the door with her and beheld at last Paige in all her glory, hair curled and tied back with ribbons. She wore a gauzy white _chiton_ and was crowned like the promise of Spring with silk flowers, her mask a cunning work of gilt tied on with a golden ribbon.

"Oh, _Rey,_ " she said, delighted as she embraced her. "You look a marvel! Both of you ought not to be only a nymph and a sylph, but Eos of the Dawn and Persephone herself."

"Nonsense," said Rose, making a great fuss out of fiddling with her sister's ribbons. "We shall be pleased to have the eyes of all the room on you only. Where is Mr. Namit?"

"He is sure to be in the anteroom: Mama insisted he go as Julius Cesar—oh, I have spoilt the surprise!"

Rey laughed. "Never fear, we shan't breathe a word to anyone, and beside that, I am sure some will discover him. Who else could be on the arm of such an empress?"

Paige smiled behind her golden mask. "Then quick! Make sure of your toilette and help me down the stairs."

Rey glanced at the mirror on the wall as Rose rushed past to help her sister untangle her skirts from the chair she sat in. She did not look as opulent as some of the ladies she had glimpsed downstairs, but the color of the gown itself was enough to need no ornament beside her golden mask and hair, which, undressed, fell down her back in a cascade of brown, shining waves. Lady Solo had not approved, but Rey had insisted, for who ever heard of a nymph with dressed hair? The only bare skin was that of her arms, and she felt quite daring indeed as she hastened away from the mirror and took up Paige's train with Rose.

They left the hall and marched slow and stately down the stairs, meeting Mr. Namit on the second landing: he looked ridiculous with his leather skirt and sandals, but the purple toga gave him an air of authority he certainly did not possess out of costume. "My dear Miss Tico," he said, kissing her hand as she greeted him. "You look the picture of beauty and majesty—rather like my patroness—"

"We ought to go down," said Rose quickly, "for they are all waiting."

"Oh, yes. Yes. Of course." Mr. Namit took Paige upon his arm and all four of them descended gracefully, to the admiring eyes of the crowd assembled. Rey saw harlequins and Turks, cowherds and shepherdesses, lords and ladies of bygone times, and some she could not identify at a glance, but all eyes were on Paige as she came down looking every inch a queen.

Once they had reached the bottom, Rose and Rey were beset by admirers, all masked, all asking the honor of a dance. "Oh, we have not even eaten yet," Rey said, taking Rose's hand demurely. "Do forgive us."

"Indeed," said Paige, "even the goddesses of the Dawn and of Spring must eat." That brought some laughter, and Rey and Rose were allowed to rush off and find lemonade and punch and sandwiches.

"I shall never be able to keep the artifice," said Rey, giggling as she sipped her punch. "I shall give myself away, I know I will. Oh, what fun!"

"Just wait till the dancing!" said Rose, and upon satisfying herself that her friend's cup was empty, took her back to the great ballroom.

* * *

The room smelled heavily of all sorts of diverse scents, and Rey breathed it in with astonishment as she stepped inside. There was something horribly Bacchanalian about the whole situation: the herbs and flowers that ordinarily masked the signs of particular constitutions were not enough to wholly cover the scents of Man, and the whole room seemed a fevered dream of bare skin and paint, silks and masks, glittering paste stones and velvet. Rey blamed Mrs. Tico privately: the lady was refined and genteel but not above passively engineering some chance meeting for her youngest daughter, and the sooner the better where Rose was concerned.

Rey stepped round a laughing man dressed in ladies' clothes (and his companion, a lady in breeches and waistcoat) as Rose was asked to dance by a stranger. She accepted readily, and Rey was left there alone on the edge of the dance-floor—but not for long.

"Eos," said a voice, and she turned to see a man all garbed and cloaked in black from head to toe, wearing an old-fashioned tricorn hat, and with a black mask in the likeness of a death's head over his face and the black fabric that swathed his head and neck and shoulders. The only color on him was red ribbons tying his knee-breeches and the scarlet leather kid-gloves on his hands. It rather gave her a shudder to look at. He smelt of nothing: if there had been such, the swaths of fabric covered it up entirely.

"I am she: who might you be?" she asked, affecting a lower tone. "Are you then Death, or the Plague, with your hands all bloody?"

"Indeed not: only Hades, come to find my bride," said the man.

"Oh, you are too late for that, sir; Persephone is already dancing, as you can see, with the Tsar of Russia there." Rey pointed at the dance-floor, where Rose was tripping about with a man in a bearskin hat and a great, fur-trimmed cloak, with a silvery mask over his face. "I expect Russia may be a bit like the underworld: it is just as cold and dark six months out of the year. Perhaps Persephone got a bit muddled on the way down this winter."

A laugh burst from behind the black mask, and it was a pleasant laugh to hear. "As you have gotten yourself lost? You ought to be abed, not at a revel: the sun shall be late coming up tomorrow if you oversleep."

"And so all the party-goers shall be more the rested," said Rey, rather enjoying this conversation. "Who wants to get up at dawn after a masquerade? Not I!"

"Nor I," said Hades. "Come, little Eos, shall you dance with me?"

"Oh, dear, sir Hades! I think not. You may catch me up and drag me under the earth, and then we should have no more sunrises at all," she said, teasing.

"I promise I shall do no such thing. You have my word. Come. One dance only."

"Very well," she said, and let the man take her by the hand and guide her to the dance-floor, where she danced a reel and laughed joyously as Rose capered by her, kicking up her feet and flashing a fair bit of ankle on the way, to the delight of the gentlemen in the room.

The music ended, and the Tsar and Hades stood side by side. "We ought to switch partners, I think," said the Tsar. He was quite as tall as Hades, a head taller than Rey, and broad in the shoulder, with a silvered mask painted to look like hoarfrost over his face. "Persephone ought to be with Hades, do you not think? Come, Eos, you ought to follow me to Russia, and give our poor frozen land some sunshine." He smelled of some faint scent that was quite exciting and sweet, and it made Rey feel bold.

"I shall not," she said, tossing her head with a laugh. "Why, I am always in Italy and Spain and Africa, and it is far warmer there. In Russia I should freeze in the sky and fall down with a thump on all of Sankt-Peterburg, and then where should you be, O Tsar?"

"Safe in Moscow, I expect," replied he, and extended his gloved hand. "I beseech you for a dance, fair Eos, for should you refuse me, I should sink into all darkness, and besides, there is no fairer Tsarina that I have yet beheld."

Rey blushed, and was glad of the mask. "As to being Tsarina, I cannot give you an answer, but as to the dance, I say yes, gladly," she said, and took his large, warm hand in hers. The Tsar led her out and another dance began. Rey began to wonder who on earth the gentlemen were: had the Hades planned his costume to match Rose? Whoever could he be? And who was the Russian, who spoke to her so kindly and danced so well? He had asked to switch partners: did he fancy her? Had Rose a beau she had not known of? Impossible, for Rose was a chronic and habitual gossip, but she could also be quite stubborn when the occasion arose. Rey resolved to ask her at the first chance.

The dance ended, the dancers all bowed, and Hades escorted Rose back to Rey. "I leave you in the hands of Mistress Eos," he said, ever so kindly.

"Who on earth was _that_?" asked Rey as the gentlemen left for the refreshments. "Rose, have you a fellow I do not know of?"

"I have no idea in the slightest," said Rose, nearly vibrating with delight. "Oh, he danced so well, just as well as the Russian: I do not know who I like better!"

"Nor I," admitted Rey. "Goodness, suppose they are brothers, and rich?"

"Oh, stop it," said Rose, laughing heartily. "Yes, rich brothers, both bachelors, of course: they will each marry one of us and we shall have twelve children each."

Rey giggled. "I ought to go find Lady Solo and make sure she is enjoying herself. You stay put and do not get into mischief." She kissed her friend and put the cup down, weaving her way in and out of the crowd, and to the door, where her head cleared a bit: less scent out here, and fewer people. She was passing the door to the retiring room when two male voices, low and urgent, caught her ear, and, curious, she crept close to the door to the library to listen.

"You have no right to be here," said one, sounding furious. They were not close, likely by the fireplace, and Rey could not recognize the voices at all. "How dare you show your face in the company of decent people?"

"How dare _I_?" demanded a second voice. "It was you who ruined me, you and the—"

"You ruined yourself, and forced my hand as accessory," said the first voice. "The least I can do is protect you from the ladies here; they ought not to be associated with the likes of you. When the unmasking comes, the Earl will—"

"The Earl needn't know," said the second. "I shall leave before then, I swear it. My purpose was not—"

"I know very well what your purpose was," said the first. "A room full of the sweet scents of young _omegas_ , close dark rooms, everyone distracted by the dance." Rey, shocked at the language, put a hand to her mouth. Who _were_ these men?

The second spoke again. "Perhaps you set upon me all the thoughts that you yourself entertain, especially with Miss Tico's two little attendants."

There was the sound of a scuffle, and a muffled cry, and then came the first voice again, black and furious. "You will not go near them again after this ball. If I catch sight of you with any young woman of my acquaintance, I will have you shot like a dog."

Rey had heard enough. She made haste away from the door and hurried to the retiring room at once, rushing into the safety of the company of women and of Lady Solo. "Quick," she entreated to the lady, who sat fanning herself in masked, merry conversation with Mrs. Pava and ten other older ladies, "I've just heard it in the corridor! Someone is going to be shot, but I don't know if it's the man dressed as Hades or the Tsar or someone else—"

"My dear girl," said Lady Solo, leaning forward, "you've had a bit too much punch, I think."

"It's true!" Rey insisted. "Shot like a dog, one of them said. I heard them in the library."

"Oh, heaven's sake," said Mrs. Pava. "Betty, go and look in the library and see who is about in there." Betty, a cheerful-faced maid, dipped a curtsey and ran off.

"I tell you it's true," Rey said again. "I heard it."

"Who on earth would want to shoot anyone at a ball?" asked Lady Solo practically.

"I don't know, but once the unmasking begins, I suppose we shall all find out," said Rey. "One of them mentioned Rose and I, that's Paige's attendants, I heard them talking about us and we had just danced with two men, one dressed as a Tsar and one—"

"There's nobody in the library, ma'am," said Betty, rushing back in.

"Thank you," said Mrs. Pava. "My dear Rey, you ought to calm your nerves with a cup of tea."

"No, thank you," said Rey, still quite agitated, "I should like to go dance again. Forgive me for bursting in on you so. Lady Solo, I do hope you are enjoying yourself."

"Oh, go on and dance," said Lady Solo, smiling. "It's only nine o'clock, after all, but for heaven's sake, child, no more punch."

* * *

The ballroom was still alight with music and dancers, and Rey easily slipped back in, seeing Rose engaged in a merry jig with a Faun and enjoying herself immensely. Neither the Tsar nor Hades were to be seen anywhere, and that did not ease her worry at all. They might be out on the lawn dueling at this very moment, and then what would everyone do? Suppose someone was killed! Rey shuddered, but pushed the thought from her mind and accepted a dance from a capering harlequin.

After that dance was over, Rose fluttered up again. "You haven't seen that Hades about, have you?" she asked. "He was ever so polite, and I have not seen him in a good quarter of an hour."

"To tell you the truth—" Rey began, but was interrupted by a bowing Persian gentleman in turban and feather. "Oh, of course," she said, distracted, and so danced a stately _sarabande_ , every step careful and measured. It gave her time to think, and think she did: whatever the two men in their costumes had planned, Rose clearly knew nothing about it, so there was no need to trouble her at all—at the same time, it was none of Rey's business, so she must stay out of it.

She was caught off her guard by a silver mask glittering at the edge of the crowd of onlookers, and turned her head as quick as the dance would allow to another glimpse—yes! That was the Tsar, and he was staring at her from the crowd.

"You must excuse me, I am sorry," she said to the Persian gentleman, affecting sudden illness, and made her way quickly from the dance-floor, the chalk catching at her slippers as she tried to find the man again. When she got to the place he had been, he was gone entirely, and she looked about in vain, perplexed. Had Hades been threatening the Tsar, who had only wanted companionship? How abominable! He had been looking at her, she was sure of it, and she felt sorry for the man indeed. A sudden thought came to her: she had only one recollection of a man of her acquaintance prone to dressing in black and lurking about like a specter, and immediately knew what had happened: Mr. Solo must be here, _was_ here, dressed all as Hades—Rose's mama had arranged for him to complement her last unmarried daughter and so set designs upon attaining his connections in society and his annual sum of five thousand a year that her eldest in a marriage with Mr. Namit would not possess—he had accused the man dressed as the Tsar of doing the very thing he was attempting to do, to make designs upon the young ladies in attendance, for of course he was hypocritical in his actions and words. Her blood rose at the injustice of it: the Tsar was a gentle and kind man, whoever he might be beneath the mask, and he had spoken so well to her and danced so finely, and now he was afraid to come near, for Mr. Solo had threatened to have him shot like a dog! She could not bear it at all, and raced from the hall in pursuit, looking this way and that, but did not see the fur hat or cloak anywhere at all.

Crushed, she sat forlornly on a sofa in the hall, ignoring the merriment going on about her. It was not fair at all: her dream of what this evening ought to have been all popped like a soap bubble on a summer afternoon. She was not a woman who often had dreams, and that made the loss of this one all the more keenly felt. Tears welled up, but she could not remove her mask, for it was only nine-thirty, so she valiantly struggled against them instead.

"May I be of assistance?" asked a voice, and she looked up in astonishment at—the Tsar! "I believe you are in some distress, my lady."

"Oh—" she said, shocked. "I thought—I thought you had gone off!"

"What do you mean?" he asked, sounding bemused beneath his silvery mask.

"I heard you in the library," she confided, "with Mr. Solo—you know, the one who is going about dressed as Hades. I heard him threaten you, and I was so frightened for your safety, sir. Forgive me. I hope it is not presumptuous."

"You heard Mr. Solo threaten me, did you?" he asked, sitting down beside her and offering her a handkerchief. "And how do you come to know who Mr. Solo is? Who are you, then?"

"Oh, I am nobody, sir, nobody at all until the unmasking," she said. "But everyone knows who Mr. Solo is, and we all believed him in London for the season. Was it him, then?"

"Mr. Solo was indeed in the library having… a conversation," said the Tsar, sounding rather careful. "I do not know what you heard, lady, but—"

"I know he threatened you," she said quickly. "It is all right. Should he try to chase you off or—or shoot you, I shall say something to his mother at once, and—and I shall fling a tureen at him, or a rock, or my slipper!" she finished, quite heated.

The Tsar chuckled. "A lady with spirit, are you? I confess I enjoy young ladies who possess the trait of loyalty and who fearlessly greet battle, even if the loyalty is only to a stranger who shared a dance."

"But you were kind to me," said Rey, handing him back his kerchief, "and spoke with great wit, so that I was amused for the entire dance: that is no small thing. Especially the kindness, as I had not experienced a great deal in my youth, so now that I am grown, it is rather a novelty."

"I am sorry to hear it," said the Tsar. "Shall I be kind to you again? Advise me as to how, and I shall be happy to oblige."

Rey wanted to ask him to ask her to dance, but the closeness of the gentleman was beginning to encroach upon her sensibilities, the deeply sweet and dark flavors of his scent wrapping about her olfactory organs like flowering vines. "I beg your pardon, sir—should we be sitting quite so close?"

"Ah," he said politely, and moved over a foot and a half. "I should have been more cautious. Shall I call for the smelling salts?"

Rey shook her head. "No, it is all right. I am all right. Pray tell me—you are not affected, are you?"

"By your… constitution?" The silver mask tilted a little, and it was as if she could feel the eyes behind appraising her. "I confess myself affected, yes, but I do not wish to offend."

Rey was flabbergasted. No gentleman would ever say such a thing to a lady of her constitution, and he was surely an A, as sure as she was an O—and yet the confession intrigued her. "What… I do not know what the manner of my—my _attraction_ is," she whispered, too shy to say the word _scent._ "Will you—will you tell me what it is like?"

The Tsar was quite still for a moment, then leaned in minutely, bringing his mask to within a foot of her face. She heard a soft, full breath, and he leaned back, gloved hands taking a firm grip on the velvet cushion of their sofa, and seemed to take a moment to compose himself. "Warm," he said, very quietly. "Faint spice. Some sort of flower, perhaps lavender. Clove—no, it is cinnamon, with a… note of earth, or—grass? And… jasmine, very faint."

Nobody had ever spoken to her so in all her life. Rey went scarlet, and thanked heaven for the mask. "I thank you for your honesty," she said, trembling all over.

"Now you must return the favor," he said, very soft and low.

"I couldn't, sir. I couldn't." Her tongue felt all tied, heavy and thick and clumsy. "I—I should not have asked you such a thing."

"But you have, so here we sit, and I share your affliction of not knowing my true condition, so you must make it known to me." He was not bullying at all, but used the most sincere and gentle of tones, and stayed where he was on the couch, not endeavoring to move closer.

Rey leaned delicately toward him and attempted the smallest of breaths, but at once it became a gasp, for the scent pouring off him was as intense and brutal as a thunderstorm, dark and sweet and seductive, and threatened to choke the life from her. She desperately tried to think of anything to say, anything at all to describe it, but found she could not, and only squeaked out the word " _Yes"_ so painfully that he started, and she cringed. The _gall_ of her, to forget herself and her decorum and her manners like this! "I—I mean," she tried again, breathing through her mouth and grasping for a corner of her gown, "I meant to say—it—it is very—very—"

"I understand," he said, saving her the struggle. "I apologize, I should not have done so, or made such a demand upon your person. I confess I quite forgot myself. You put me in mind of—" and here he stopped abruptly, and was silent.

"Of what, sir?" she managed.

"Nothing. It is of no import. Only someone I am acquainted with, that is all."

"Someone you are fond of?" she pressed.

The Tsar made a soft little huff behind his mask. "It does not matter. Shall I escort you to back to the ballroom?"

"One moment. I must collect my wits." She sat for a minute, fanning herself with a hand. Lord, how was she to survive a dance with the smell of him wound round her body so? It was indecent, that was what it was: wholly improper to have a ball like this with barely a single herb or flower to mask people's scents. She wanted to smack some sense into Lady Haynes very badly. "I am all right, now, thank you," she said to the Tsar when she felt more at ease. "You may take me back in."

"And I should not let you go, for fear Mr. Solo should appear and I am without my protector," he said, sounding as if he was smiling.

"Oh, have no fear of that, sir. He loathes me as much as anyone: one glimpse of me and he shall turn tail and run back to London," she said cheerfully, accepting his hand up.

"Does he? I did not think Mr. Solo truly loathed anyone—aside from myself, of course. What have you done to earn such ire?"

"That would be telling," she said, hand tucked into his arm. "What have _you_ done to earn his ire, sir?"

"Oh, I have been a fool in many matters," said the Tsar as they walked back down the hall. "Lost some money carelessly, made bad friends, fought with my father, things like that: Mr. Solo does not take kindly to foolishness." He sounded rather bitter. "Of course, Mr. Solo has traits of his own that are not cast in sterling, as he might like others to believe."

"Does he? Pray tell what they are?"

"Oh, he is dreadfully snobbish, I know it for a fact. He does not converse easily with people he does not wholly trust, for another, and I have also heard it that his temper oft gets the better of him: he says things he does not mean in the heat of a moment, and then never makes it right. A great fault, I think."

"That is only the fault of Pride, if he does not make it right," Rey said. "Anyone who says things they do not mean when they are angry ought to apologize, I think. It is a mark of good character."

"You are very right," said the Tsar. "Look, we are back in the ballroom: now hold fast to me, and I shall not let you fall."

* * *

Rey danced every dance with the gallant stranger: she had eyes for no other, and all night imagined what he would look like at the unmasking. Would he have golden hair? Red? Brown? His eyes, she was certain, were brown, as they peeped through the mask: perhaps he was a dark and handsome stranger from some remote place of England, and when they all unmasked, he would kiss her hand, and praise her beauty, and the next ball would be to celebrate _her_ engagement. She had never fancied herself a very great romantic, but now felt she was being swept wholly away by a flood of wants and desires she had never before felt: she dared to imagine what a man's lips on hers might feel like, or the touch of a bared hand to her shoulder. The clock ticked on and on, and she felt as if she was in a dream that would never end.

Hades did not make another appearance, and Rose was disappointed, of course, but soon returned to dancing by ten o'clock. "It is all right," she said to Rey as they gulped lemonade between dances, "it really is: if he meant half of what he said to me he shall find me again soon and I shall know his face!"

Rey, who pitied her too much to tell her what she had uncovered, simply nodded and agreed that the gentleman must come calling soon, perhaps in the next week. Poor Rose! she thought, stepping into a lively, wild line with the Tsar. To be courted by that awful Mr. Solo: simply unbearable.

The clock passed eleven, and went on and on, and at eleven fifty-five the Tsar drew Rey aside and said, "Eos, my lady, the hour draws near." All round them the guests were pairing off in anticipation of revealing their faces—at least the ones who were still sober enough to stand.

"Not here," said Rey, boldly taking his gloved hand. "I would rather have you all to myself, sir—let us go out to the lawn."

"You will freeze," he said, and swept the great fur-lined cloak off his shoulders, fastening it about hers. "There. Come, then, and let us make haste."

They went together out to the hall, where some couples were already engaged in rather shocking displays of affection on couches and behind curtains, but the Tsar never looked at them, only at her, and Rey clung to him fast as he led her out to the portico. It was snowing, great white flakes drifting down from the sky, and her slippers crunched over the ground, the cold seeping into her feet. She turned and looked up at the Tsar, her mouth gone quite dry. "I—"

The great clock inside struck the first chime of midnight, and Rey, with fumbling fingers gone numb and chilly, reached up, unable to bear it any longer, and tore the golden mask away from her face. "Here I am," she said, looking up at the Tsar. "Do you know me, sir?"

The Tsar was silent and as immovable as a statue carved from stone as the bell tolled on, and Rey began to feel anxious: did he find her unappealing in some way? Was there something the matter? "Miss Skywalker," he said softly, in a voice low and gentle, and she suddenly knew that voice, the voice behind the mask, and a great shock and horror dawned over her as he reached up on the very last stroke of midnight and pulled off his own mask to reveal—

Rey gasped. The dream had become a nightmare. Mr. Solo—Mr. Solo! looked down at her with some emotion in his dark eyes she could not discern, and oh! it was too much: they had sat on that sofa, he had spoken to her in ways she had never dreamed of being spoken to, she should have recognized him by scent at once but had been blind, blind! Horrified, she staggered a little, and suddenly felt terribly lightheaded, and remembered she had eaten nothing but a sandwich at seven o'clock and had drunk far too much punch. "I beg your pardon, sir," she murmured, "I am going to faint."

And faint she did, pitching directly forward, whereupon Solo caught her in his arms and lifted her as if she weighed no more than a sheaf of wheat before carrying her inside. The attendees of the party made way for the man as if he was Moses and they the Red Sea, and in this fashion he got her to a retiring-room and deposited her gently onto a couch. "Fetch Lady Solo," he ordered a footman, "and have her come at once: her little ward has fainted."

"I am all right," said Rey feebly, stirring.

Solo looked at her. "Are you? Good. I confess myself wholly shocked by my behavior towards you, and beg your forgiveness: I should not have been deceptive so as to discover your feelings towards me, and now that I have found them out, I shall leave you alone hereafter."

"What!" said Rey, taken aback. "You knew who I was?"

"Not at first. Only when I—when—" and he looked discomfited. "When certain aspects of your person unmasked by cloth or mask became known to me, I knew you, and also when you said that Mr. Solo loathed you, I knew at once for certain."

Rey looked away, furious tears welling in her eyes. "You have toyed with me, sir," she said, shaking with anger. "You have pretended to court me all night, and tricked me, and spoke to me in ways you ought never to have done."

"I have," he said, impassive. "And I am sorry for it. It was discourteous."

"It was not only discourteous: it was cruel," she whispered, dashing tears away. He looked as if she had struck him through the heart, but Lady Solo came sweeping in, unmasked and looking very concerned, and Solo got up and retreated to the wall.

"Why, my dear Miss Skywalker, what have you done?" asked Lady Solo, patting her brow.

"Only been a fool, Lady Solo," said Rey tiredly. "A very great one. I think I must be put to bed."

"Indeed. Lady Haynes has asked us to stay the night, and—oh, Benjamin, there you are!" She caught sight of her son. "Lady Haynes would like to speak with you: some business concerning Miss Rose, I think."

He bowed stiffly. "I will go, then," he said, and just like that he was gone.

Rey burst into fresh tears, and Lady Solo wrung her hands in confusion and brought out the smelling-salts. "Don't cry so, dearest Rey," she said. "What on earth is the matter?"

"I am so tired, that is all," she said, wiping her eyes, and so found herself escorted up to the guest rooms by a yawning Betty, where she changed and crawled, exhausted, into bed. Sleep was not yet to come, however, for Rose crept in a few minutes after, and crawled into bed with her. "Rey," she whispered.

"What did your mother want Mr. Solo for?" asked Rey, half-asleep.

"Oh, I don't know. But who d'you think was outside my window when I came up to bed?"

"Who?" asked Rey, more awake now.

"Why, Hades, of course! And what's more, I know who he is now, and he swore me to secrecy, but you shall find all out in good time," she said, wrapping herself in the sheets. "Goodness, it's cold."

"Why, who was he, Rose?" asked Rey, alert.

"A gentleman, and that is all I shall say," said Rose, grinning. "Blow out the light, won't you?" So Rey did, and fell asleep with her friend by her side, and dreamt half-dreams of whirling Tsars and specters.


	6. Chapter 6

"You have gotten a letter," said Lady Solo one fine wet morning in early March. "It is from Miss Paige—or I should say, Mrs. Namit: she invites you to make good on your promise and come visit them at Gatalenta Park as soon as you may."

"Oh, has Paige written?" asked Rey, delighted. "I shall pack at once, and take the little coach." Part of her was very excited to see her friend again after so long a time apart, and with Rose back in London since Christmas there was nobody to talk to at all.

The bags were packed and the horses were made ready, and Mr. Dameron tipped his hat as she climbed up into the carriage. "Gatalenta Park, the mistress said," he remarked. "Not too far, but far enough to need to stop for luncheon on the way there."

"I have money, never fear about that, Dameron," said Rey. "Drive on!"

* * *

They went over hills and through valleys, though heavy forests that might have seen the advent of the Roman conquerors, and over rivers that burbled and sang in the rain. Rey sat inside the coach and napped, lulled asleep by the sounds around her: how lovely it was! Dameron stopped in a village for an hour and Rey bought pasties and milk for their lunches, and after the horses were fed and watered they were back on the road again, trotting off to Gatalenta Park.

Late in the afternoon, the coach pulled up in front of the little house where Paige was waving, beaming from the front door. "Rey!" she called out, running to meet her. "Oh, how glad I am that you have come!"

Rey got out and embraced her friend with delight, then held her at arms' length. The aristocratic softness was all gone from her cheeks and arms, but in its place was good strong sinew and her face looked delicately strong, as if she was a sculpture forged from steel. "Oh, Paige, how I have missed you," she said.

"As have I!" A few boys came out of the house and took the bags inside. "We do have some servants and maids—of course nothing like the Abbey, but oh, how I adore running my own household, Rey. You can't know what a joy it is."

"Indeed I do not," said Rey. "Oh—this is Mr. Dameron, he is wholly irreplaceable, and must find a room to sleep in."

"A room?" said Dameron, looking taken aback. "The stable will do well enough."

Paige shook her head. "Oh, no, Mr. Dameron, the stable has got a leaky roof. You may stay in the servant's quarters: I daresay they are very comfortable, as I personally mended the walls and moved in serviceable furniture."

"Thank you, ma'am," he said, and moved away, doffing his cap to Rey.

* * *

The two ladies went up to the house together, and Rey was shown into a small parlor with a roaring fire going. Paige poured her tea, and they sat together. "We shan't be disturbed here: I have been given this parlor for my own particular use," she said, and set the teapot aside. "Oh, I cannot tell you how happy I am, Rey."

"Are you? Then I am happy for you, my dear Paige," said Rey, smiling as she took an offered biscuit.

"Rose wrote to me of your misfortune on the occasion of the masquerade. I am so very sorry about it."

"Oh, I am quite past all of that," said Rey, and sipped her tea. In truth, it rankled on her still, and filled her with contradicting emotions that she did not care to delve into, and so kept them pushed to the back of her mind, and had been doing so continually for the past three months. Mr. Solo had departed, where precisely no one could say, but since Lady Solo seemed unperturbed, nobody was very much worried. "Tell me, how is Rose enjoying spring in London?"

"Very much. She writes on and on about how fine it all is, and says she has a beau now, who she is sure Mama will not approve of, and refuses to disclose his name to me." Paige smiled. "I expect she is only trying to have her fun, as she is the last unmarried one of the pair of us."

Rey smiled. "I do hope she has not fallen in with a bad sort."

"Oh, Aunt Lettie would never let that happen," said Paige. "I have some exciting news, as well: you arrived so quickly, but Lady Holdo invites us to dine with her every Tuesday and Friday, so to-day you are invited, too."

"How very marvelous," said Rey, without much enthusiasm. "Shall she descend from the ceiling covered in silver and gold? Or perhaps ride in on a centaur?"

Paige laughed. "My husband is quite star-struck by what he sees as unthinkable generosity: I find the lady a very sensible sort. I think she will like you, and you her. The dinners are always very good, as well: Mr. Namit always agrees with me on the subject, and eats like a horse."

"I am surprised Mr. Namit has the sensibility to eat when in the presence of his liege lady and most high empress," said Rey, grinning.

"Oh, he was a terrible flatterer to her face, but then, she imparted upon him the wisdom that it may be a sin to flatter, with a very serious and pious eye, like this—" and Paige affected an expression of great severity, making Rey cover her mouth with her handkerchief. "So, you see, Mr. Namit ceased at once, not wishing to offend, and now is only very cordial and never speaks a word against a single one of her opinions, nor engages in flattery at all. I believe she could say that the sky is red, and not blue, and he would agree and nod and carry on."

"I am amazed that you can bear to live in the same house," said Rey, laughing.

"It is not so bad. You see: Mr. Namit rises early and goes out to the garden, which I encourage, as it is a great exercise of the mind and of the body. I told him that communing with God's earth was a most important thing, else how would he understand the farmers in the church? So off he goes; I am left quite alone until lunchtime, and he eats with some yeoman or farmer most every day—then, I take my meal in my parlor. After that he returns, and shuts himself up in the library reading sermons until dinner, where we have our only meal together, and after that he wishes me a good night, and goes to bed early for his strength of mind and body: there, you understand! I am perfectly content."

Rey was dumbstruck. She had not considered that in a marriage the couple might be apart a good deal despite the marriage, and for an instant thought: _why, I could have had this life._ It was a very queer feeling, to be standing in the parlor of a home she might have been mistress of. "I see," was all she said. "Well, ought we to change, then? It is nearly five."

"Oh, yes! Mr. Namit will be coming out of the library soon, and we ought to change first." Paige led her to the door. "I shall show you to your room at once."

* * *

Once the ladies had dressed for dinner, they went downstairs and met Mr. Namit, in his blacks, who dutifully kissed Paige on the cheek and bowed to Rey. "My dear Miss Skywalker," he said, smiling, "how thoughtful of you to join us! I am sure Lady Holdo will not mind your presence at dinner at all: she often entertains guests from all over the country. Such a fantastic and benevolent lady as herself cannot possibly object to you."

"Yes, I have heard," said Rey, curtseying politely. "It is very nice to see you again, Mr. Namit. Does married life agree with you?"

"It does indeed," he said, smiling at Paige. "Why, my wife takes such good care of me that I almost feel as if I am a new man again."

"Of course I do, else you would never care for yourself," said Paige, teasing. "Come along, I can see Lady Holdo has sent one of her carriages, and it shall not do to be late."

"Late! Late!" Mr. Namit seemed to go into a fit. "Oh, heavens above, that will not do: hurry, Miss Skywalker!"

They made a dash for the waiting carriage and all piled in: Paige and Mr. Namit on one side and Rey on the other. It was still drizzling, so Rey was glad of the roof overhead as they rolled along the road to the estate house. Mr. Namit went on at length about the finery of the grounds, the trees, the road, and so on until Rey wanted to strangle him, but as they came over the rise Rey found herself leaning out in amazement. The great house of Gatalenta Park was massive, even larger than Queen's Rise, done in some fanciful mixture of Elizabethan and Baroque style. Sandstone walls loomed impressively, three stories high, with Doric columns and arches. They drove through the gate, and Rey sat back, suddenly feeling quite overwhelmed at the prospect of dinner with the lady of this enormous place.

They came up to the portico and disembarked, Rey walking a bit behind Paige. "What a place!" she remarked as they ascended the steps to the door.

"Ah, good evening," said Mr. Namit politely to the butler who awaited them there. The man ushered them all in and took their coats and wraps, and after that they were shown to the great salon. Rey looked about herself in astonishment: what a place this was! The grandness of wealth was on display in every corner, on every wall: there was art of all sorts, draperies, tapestries. "That wall-paneling alone cost a thousand pounds," whispered Mr. Namit as they went along, or, "the window leading cost over ten thousand, and that was only for the ballroom." The salon was awfully stuffy, with servants lining the walls, and heavy old furniture, and a fire was going in an absolutely enormous chimney-piece, carved with flowers and wreaths. A woman was sitting with her back to them, and the butler hurried ahead, speaking low into her ear as Namit vigorously motioned for the ladies to hang back.

"Mr. Namit, is that you?" she said, without turning round. A girl was sitting across from her, a long-faced, sallow looking thing in a shawl and spectacles whom Rey immediately felt sorry for. "Come in at once and introduce me to your friend."

"Yes, my lady," said Namit, rushing forward and bowing obsequiously. "My wife, Mrs. Paige Namit, you already know: but this other is Miss Rey Skywalker, of Queen's Rise."

"Queen's Rise!" said the lady, and as Rey came round the sofa to curtsey, she saw the famous Lady Holdo: a woman with curled and graying hair, dressed in fantastic colors: a lilac dinner dress over which she wore a purple robe edges with gold lace, and on her graying head was a lavender silk turban, fastened with a great amethyst brooch. "You are, then, a relation of my good friend, Lady Leia Solo?"

"Something like that, ma'am," said Rey as she curtsied.

"Hm." Lady Holdo indicated the girl on the sofa. "This is my daughter, Miss Eustacia Holdo; Eustacia, my dear, this is Miss Skywalker, a friend of your Auntie Leia's." It gave Rey a bit of a start to hear Lady Solo spoken of in such familiar terms, and certainly she had never called her by her Christian name, but Eustacia Holdo nodded at her, peering through her spectacles.

"Charmed, I'm sure," she said. "Mr. Solo has spoken of you once or twice."

"Mr. Solo!" said Rey, alarmed but doing her best not to show it, and smiled instead. "I am sorry to hear it, and I can only hope that I will make a more favorable impression upon you than the one which that gentleman has undoubtedly shaped for me to step into."

"More favorable?" asked Lady Holdo, one brow raised quizzically. "Why, he speaks very well of you indeed, Miss Skywalker; I cannot begin to pretend what you mean."

Rey was astonished, but had no opportunity to pursue the line of questioning, for who should appear in the doorway but a man with a handsome and genial face—and Mr. Solo, with him! Upon his entrance, she froze in her place, like a frightened deer, and he seemed to do the same, his eyes fixed on her as he drew himself up and checked his stride sharply. The other man strolled directly in, making his greeting to Lady Holdo, and Rey could not even look at Mr. Solo for shame and discomfort.

"Why, Mr. Solo," said Paige, coming to Rey's rescue, "whatever are you doing here?"

"Mrs. Namit," said Mr. Solo, bowing stiffly. "I am staying here for the time being."

"Lieutenant Mitaka, at your service," said the man. "How do you do, ladies? And I see you are already acquainted with my friend Solo."

Rey smiled at Mitaka, regaining her composure. "A pleasure to meet you, sir. Yes, I met Mr. Solo first in Niima Village, nigh on two—no, three years back."

Holdo rose, and a pair of immaculate footmen opened the doors to the dining room. The whole crowd moved in, Mr. Solo and Mr. Mitaka behind Lady Holdo and her daughter, and the Namits and Rey behind them. "I have it in utter confidence," said Mr. Namit to Rey softly, "that Mr. Solo is engaged to Miss Eustacia."

"I am sure your mother-in-law will be disappointed to hear it," Rey whispered back. She took another look at Miss Eustacia, and wanted to feel sorry for her again, but somehow her pity had mingled with some odd new emotion that she had not experienced before—there was no time to explore this, however, for dinner was ready and the table all set.

* * *

"No, Mr. Namit, you simply cannot sit next to your wife at table," Lady Holdo said imperiously from the head of the table, all lit with candles and set with crystal and porcelain. "Sit across from her. In fact, you must change places with Miss Skywalker." That was how Rey found herself taking her seat next to Mr. Solo, who stared directly ahead as if she did not exist. Miss Eustacia sat at her mother's right hand, and Mr. Solo at her left: at Miss Eustacia's side was Mr. Namit, then Mr. Mitaka, and on Rey's other side sat Paige.

"I trust Lady Solo is in good health, Miss Skywalker?" said Solo, rather uncomfortably.

"She is, thank you," said Rey, looking directly ahead at the elaborate candelabra on the table. "My good friend Miss Tico, Mrs. Namit's sister Rose, whom you know, is currently in London. Perhaps you saw her there?"

"I have not had the pleasure, no," said Solo.

"Do you play the piano, Miss Skywalker?" asked Lady Holdo from the head of the table.

"Very poorly, ma'am, I'm afraid to say," said Rey.

"Ah. Do you draw?"

"No, ma'am," said Rey.

"How strange. Do you embroider?"

"Not at all."

"Sing?"

"Passably, in my own opinion, but I have never been trained."

Lady Holdo looked very confused. "I had written to Leia ages ago and informed her that her ward must be presented at court and afterward taught the arts of being a young lady. Why, she ought to have taken you to London every winter for the social season."

"I was never presented, ma'am," said Rey, sipping the soup.

"Never presented! What! A girl your age? Are you often ill, like my Eustacia?"

Rey answered without a care in the world for Mr. Namit's stricken face. "No, ma'am, I am quite healthy, and furthermore I care not a whit for presentations and feathers and all that stuff and nonsense. It seems to me a construct entirely formed by Society and its many rules, without which I think we might all get on a good deal better than we find ourselves at present."

"Upon my word," said Lady Holdo, "you give your opinion very decidedly for so young a person. Pray tell me, how old are you?"

Rey smiled into her spoon. "As I am not presented, and unmarried, your ladyship can hardly expect me to reveal it."

Mr. Namit choked on his soup, and Mr. Mitaka thumped him helpfully on the back, but Mr. Solo cast a look at Rey that might have been described as _almost_ admiring: she missed it, as she was intent upon her wineglass.

* * *

After dinner, they retired to the drawing-room, drinking coffee. "Mrs. Namit, I should like to hear you play for us," said Lady Holdo. "And Miss Skywalker ought to sing, as accompaniment."

"Oh, no, I beg you—" began Rey, mortified.

"There is no one in the country who takes more enjoyment in music than I," said Lady Holdo, eyeing Rey sternly. "I insist. There is no improvement without practice, and practice you must."

"I have told you, I only sing passably," Rey protested, but Mr. Namit fixed her with a look.

"Come, Miss Skywalker, her Ladyship insists," he said: and that was how she found herself standing at the piano next to Paige, feeling cold sweats breaking out beneath her chemise. The only songs she knew well were not the sort that she felt she should sing in the presence of Lady Holdo, but fortunately Paige rescued her by playing through a stanza of _Das Veilchen_ , and the words were on the page, so she got on moderately well as she stood and sang.

When she was finished, the room politely applauded, and Paige stood to curtsey, blushing prettily as Rey sat down with a plop on the piano stool and tried to hide her relief at the thing being over. Mr. Solo appeared at her elbow, and she looked up at him. "Do you mean to frighten me by coming to hear me sing, Mr. Solo?"

"I believe, Miss Skywalker, that I am well enough acquainted with you to know that I could not alarm you, even if I tried my very best to do so," he said, and they eyed each other with some mutual apprehension. Both were interrupted by the arrival of Mitaka, who cheerfully and ignorantly joined them at the piano.

"What," he asked, nodding at Solo, "was my friend like in Niima Village, when you first met, Miss Skywalker?"

"Oh, must you really know?" asked Rey, leaning in as if to divulge some great secret. "Then, Mr. Mitaka, you must prepare for something truly awful. The first time we were properly introduced, at a ball at Queen's Rise, he danced with nobody at all, even though the rooms were full of young ladies who were in want of partners."

Mitaka pressed his mouth shut in an effort not to laugh. Solo's cheeks reddened to high color, and the flush spread to the tips of his large ears, which poked out from his thick black hair. "I knew nobody well enough to request a dance," he said sullenly.

"Oh, yes; I had forgot, nobody has _ever_ been introduced in a ballroom," said Rey.

"Mitaka! Come here for a moment," called Lady Holdo, and the gentleman bowed to Rey and moved away obediently, leaving Solo and Rey quite alone by the piano.

"I believe I told you at Christmastime," Solo said with some quality to his voice that made Rey think he was ill at ease, "that I do not have the talent of conversing easily with people I do not know well."

Rey looked up at him directly. "Perhaps, then, you ought to take our Lady Holdo's advice, and practice," she said, and put her hands on the piano keys, tapping out a very bad rendition of a piece that ought to have been Bach, but was entirely unrecognizable.

"I have already made my apologies to you for my behavior at Christmas," said Solo softly, in an undertone that reached only her ears under the awful sound of the piano. "What more must I do?"

"Do?" Rey asked, in the same quiet voice. "Do for what? That is, do to what end, Mr. Solo?"

Solo seemed stuck by the question, and stood for a moment with his lips parted, as if he might speak at any moment, but the moment passed, and he turned his back on her, and went to the others as Rey dutifully played away.

"Cease that awful racket, child," Lady Holdo finally commanded. "It is bringing on a monstrous head-ache."

* * *

"Of course you shan't be unwelcome at church, dear Rey," said Paige, helping her tie the ribbons of her bonnet. It was promising to be a most gloomy and wet spring day, so the oilcloth coats had been all brought out ready. "Mr. Mitaka shall be there, and I know how much you liked him."

"Heavens, Paige: I hardly know the man, but he is a pleasant conversationalist, and no; I should not be averse to sitting in a pew for two hours so long as I had an interesting friend close to hand," Rey said. "Does Lady Holdo attend services?"

Paige shook her head. "Goodness, no: only for weddings and funerals and things like that. She is not a habitual church-goer at all. Her daughter is slightly more pious, and shall be in attendance, escorted by Mr. Solo, however: they have a private pew."

"Oh, of course," said Rey. She had gone to dinner again with the Holdos, and had gotten a chance to speak to Miss Eustacia: she seemed a very sickly yet bright sort of young lady with a great interest in needlework and gardening, when she was well enough to go out, and her looks really could not be helped at all, not even the dark hollows beneath her eyes or her spotty nose and cheeks, but for all that she did look younger than her twenty-five years. "I hope they are edified by it all."

"Come, we shall be late, and there is nothing Mr. Namit hates more!" Paige rushed her out, and they made a dash for the carriage, fat raindrops already beginning to fall.

* * *

"How long are you staying in Gatalenta Park, Mr. Mitaka?" Rey whispered to him as they sat together in church, listening to Mr. Namit drone on about charitable love for one's fellow man.

"Oh, as long as Solo wants: I am at his disposal entirely, you see. We met several years ago, and he likes to write to old friends and entertain them at his expense sometimes."

"You must have done him a great service," said Rey.

"Service? No, I had brought him a few letters and arranged a few things, but Mr. Solo does not forget a well-done deed—or a slight—in equal measure: he is very firm in his ways, you see."

"Oh! I had thought he brought you along to have someone to lord over and order about. I had wondered why instead he does not marry and secure a lasting convenience of that kind."

Mitaka laughed under his breath. "He is nearly engaged, I am told, to Miss Eustacia, and I consider her to be a lucky woman."

"Lucky! Really?" exclaimed Rey.

Mitaka nodded. "Solo is most loyal to his companions. From what I understand, he recently did a friend of his a good turn, and saved the friend from an imprudent marriage."

"What! What man was this?"

"As I understood it, a close friend from long ago. Colonel Armitage Hux."

Rey's mind seemed to shutter and blank still and quiet as she took the name in: Armitage Hux? Hux, Paige's old beau, the handsome, dashing officer who had run away and left her in despair until she had no other choice but to to wed Namit? _Hux?_ She began to work frantically back in her mind: if Solo had interfered in their courtship, then _he was_ responsible for driving the man off, and Hux was no rogue at all, but only a man thwarted by a villain! "Did Solo give you the reasons for such an interference?"

"Apparently there were some strong objections to particulars about the lady's family and her money: I do not know the details, I confess," said Mitaka.

"He separated them?" whispered Rey, horrified.

"As far as I am made aware, yes," said Mitaka, blind to her distress.

Rey cast a glance upon Solo, whose broad shoulders were all she could see several seats ahead beside the ill-postured form of Miss Eustacia Holdo, and thought of nothing but black fury for the next hour. Paige, wedded to a ridiculous man because Solo had forced Hux away from her, when she had been so happy: the injustice of it all seethed beneath her skin, and she longed to leap up from the pew, and strike him, or shout, or—anything! Alas, propriety persevered, and she was able to wait until Namit had made his closing remarks and it was over at last. As she stood and made her farewells to Mr. Mitaka, citing feeling a little indisposed, Mr. Solo caught her eye from the front, and he seemed to make a motion as if to walk towards her, but she turned on her heel and fled from the church, into the rain, and did not look back.

* * *

The rain had become a downpour by the time Rey reached the shelter of one of the follies built about the grand property of Gatalenta Park. This folly was built to look like a Grecian temple with an arched entrance, and offered respite from the rain under its wide dome, so Rey found herself shivering and bedraggled by a pillar, for she had left her oilcloth coat and was wholly soaked to the skin of her Sunday best. The wet fabric clung to her, thigh to ankle, shoulder to breast, and she plucked it in vain away from her body, wishing she had had more sense than to storm out into the rain.

Her poor friend! Rey gazed out over the rain-soaked fields and wiped her eyes with a wet sleeve. She had no more time to ruminate over the injustice doled out by Solo, however, for someone was coming across the park, striding towards the folly and towards her. She knew that gait and set of shoulder nearly as well as Rose's by now, and immediately looked about in vain for an escape. Finding none but the entrance leading into the folly, she slipped inside the arch, out of the wet and into the close, stone-walled interior, which was more like that of a summer-house: there was a couch and a table and a cupboard, and all was very plain. She held her breath and retreated into a corner, hoping to not be seen.

Her hopes were dashed when Solo entered. He had to bend down a little to get in, and once inside seemed to fill the whole place up: he had come without hat or over-coat, and was drenched and breathless, in a state of great agitation as his eyes fixed on her. "Miss Skywalker," he said, and she realized too late that she had forgot her handkerchief, and was therefore wholly exposed to his constitution, and he smelt very much as if he was on the verge of being unsuitable for polite company. "Miss Skywalker. I have struggled in vain. I can bear it no longer. The past—the past years, all the time I have known you, have been to me the greatest torment and agony." Rey could only stare at him in astonishment as he continued on. "I came—I came here, to Gatalenta, with the only and sole object of seeing you. I had to. I had to see you."

"Me?" Rey squeaked, backing as far as she could into the corner in order to put a more proper distance between them. " _Me?"_

"In vain," he said, "have I struggled against—against Lady Holdo's expectations, my mother's judgement, and—the inferiority of your birth and breeding, my own rank and position—all those things. And yet, I am willing to cast them to the side, and beg you to end my agony."

"I don’t understand what—" Rey began, but he cut her off, his dark eyes staring directly at her.

"In vain have I struggled," he repeated, stumbling over his words. "It will not do. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you."

Rey could not have been more astonished, had Zeus himself struck her with a thunderbolt. She took in several deep breaths, which had the unfortunate effect of wreathing her being with more of his scent, but plunged on anyway once she felt sufficiently bolstered. "I cannot pretend to understand what you mean," she said. "I believe in cases such as this, the expected fashion of young women is to express a—a sense of obligation for such sentiments, but I cannot pretend to feel obliged at all—I have never desired your approval or your admiration, and both of these you have bestowed unwillingly upon me. I am—I should be sorry to cause pain to anyone. Believe me, it was not consciously done."

Solo stepped toward her, one large hand clenched into a fist at his thigh. "And this is all the answer I am to expect?" he said. "May I inquire as to why I am rejected?"

"You may," said Rey, blood rising. "I might also ask of you why you design to insult and offend me, telling me that although I was born a nobody and am inferior in every way possible to yourself, you express your feelings for me, making sure to tell me they are all against your reason, your will, and your character. And setting all those aside, do you believe that I would even for a moment accept a man who has ruined the happiness of a beloved friend, who is as like a sister to me as anyone could be, by separating her from the man courting her, so as to force her to suffer humiliation?"

"You are speaking of Mrs. Namit," said Solo, and his color changed: he went very pale.

Rey was not finished. "You separated Paige and Colonel Hux, when there was no reason whatsoever: she comes from a decent and good family, and I can only think that it was spitefully done to cause them both misery. Perhaps you were jealous that Hux speaks more easily, or that he courted young women where you could not, whether by the obstacle of your disdainful and condescending moods or your countenance."

Solo blinked, and regarded her with an almost incredulous expression. "So this is your opinion of me," he said softly.

"I could have no other opinion," she spat, furious. "From the day we first met, you have been nothing but cruel and unfeeling towards me. You mocked my birth, my circumstances, my _freckles_ ; you regarded me as some plaything of your uncle's, you were envious of the money I was left, you humiliated me, you cruelly treated me at the masque this past Christmas—and as for the way you treated your friend Hux, who you forcibly tore from Paige Tico, who thought she would never get a better match, and thought so ill of herself after that she wed a ridiculous man below her station in life in order to save the future of her family—"

"I thank you for explaining yourself so fully," said Solo, his color back up. "Indeed, my faults are heavy according to your calculation. Perhaps they would have been overlooked, had your pride not been hurt by my honesty in speaking about your poor birth: perhaps I ought to have flattered you instead, and spoken nothing of your past at all, but lies and deceptions I abhor completely, and even now I am not ashamed of the feelings I related to you, for they were natural and just."

Rey took a step towards him. "You claim to abhor deceptions, and yet you deceived me at the masque, and let me think you some stranger, when I had made a fool of myself! You have no strength of character, Mr. Solo: you are mercurial indeed, and you are mistaken if you think that the method of your proposal affected me in any other way than as it spared me any concern which I felt in refusing your hand. You could not have made me the offer in any possible way that could have tempted me, for I knew immediately from the day I met you that you were the last man on earth I could ever desire to marry."

"You," said Solo, pale with two high marks of color on his cheeks, "have said quite enough, madam." They were standing very close, and Rey tried hard not to breathe. "I perfectly understand your emotions, and now have only to be ashamed of what my own have been." It was far, far too close in the summerhouse, and Rey fought that dreadful instinct to her constitution: to drag him to her, to pull him down, to embrace him in her arms until all was forgot—but no! He seemed to feel the same pull of Nature, as he bent so close that he could have kissed her cheek, and she felt the heat of his body surround hers—then the moment was broken, as he pulled back. "Forgive me for taking up so much of your time. I wish you only health and happiness." Both dark eyes dropped to her wet clothes, and he looked away quickly, mortified as a flush spread across his face. "Shall I walk you back to the house?"

She became conscious that she was shivering mightily, the cold remembered as he stepped away and took the heat of his body with him. "You may not," she said. "I can walk myself."

He took off his coat and put it gently round her shoulders. "Take that, at least, then. Farewell, Miss Skywalker." And with that, he had left the summerhouse in his shirtsleeves, leaving Rey quite alone.


	7. Chapter 7

Rey woke the next morning to the very same thoughts and frantic musings which she had shut her eyes to the night before. She rose from bed, dressed, and meant to go out to the park once she had finished breakfast, to walk about, but upon remembering that Solo was likely nearby, changed her mind and wrote a letter off to Rose in London instead before deciding to stroll through the nearby grove. It had ceased raining in the night sometime, and every drop of rain glittered like tiny gems strung through the trees and grass below the clear, pale sky.

Of course, she thought as she walked, it was slightly gratifying to know that she had been able to produce such strength of emotion in a man who prided himself on being so stern and sullen, but that was the only pleasure she had got out of the whole sorry affair, and truly it was no pleasure at all. To be liked by such a man was truly an awful fate, as Rose had said to her in jest so long ago: a man who drew lovers apart for the spite of it, who was incapable of allowing anyone happiness so long as he could get none! What sort of woman would wish to be pursued by _that?_

She walked round, thinking, and went back into the house, hanging up her cloak and removing her bonnet. Nobody was in the house, as Paige had walked down to market and Namit was off doing his Monday rounds among the people in the village, so she thought to herself that she might have some tea alone in the drawing-room, and finish the book she had borrowed from Paige. Into the drawing-room she went, then, and draped a shawl about her shoulders before calling the maid for tea. The girl left, and Rey turned to the bookshelf to look for the book she wanted. A step on the floor sounded behind her, and she half-smiled.

"You have certainly been quick about it, Mary," she said, turning—but her words died in her throat, for Solo was standing there, pale and red-eyed, and clutching an envelope in one hand.

"I have come to bring you this. Will you do me the honor of reading it?" He put it on the table, and she saw that his hand was trembling.

"You are ill, sir," Rey said, and that was very true: he was shivering and flushed, and reeked of danger. She put a corner of the shawl to her nose, in sudden terror that he would leap upon her; she had never seen a man so close to an improper time. "You ought not to have walked home without your coat yesterday; it is in the hall." She wanted to tell him he oughtn't even to be in the house, or near her, but the words could not make it past her lips.

When he replied, he sounded hoarse, and as if he was holding his breath. "It is kind of you to be concerned, but it is only that I have not slept. Good-day, Miss Skywalker." With that, he was gone, departing the room and, by the sound of the front door, quitting the house entirely.

Rey waited until the figure of Mr. Solo had passed the gate before darting to the table and snatching the letter up. Her name was written across the front of the envelope in a close, elegant hand, and Rey tore it open, revealing several sheets, dated seven o'clock in the evening of the previous day. She began, with great curiosity, to read.

_Do not be alarmed, madam, on receiving this letter: I have no desire to repeat the sentiments or the offers which were so appalling to your sensibilities. I write this without any intention of causing you pain or of humbling myself by dwelling on fantasies, which, for both our happinesses, must be quickly forgotten, and I would not have written this letter at all, but my character desired it must be written and read by yourself. You must pardon the carelessness in which I yet again make demands upon your attention; you will, I know, give it unwillingly, but I beg you give it anyway, to give me some justice._

_You laid to my charge yesterday two offenses, which I, called to the bar, must address and explain. The first was that I treated you with utter derision and cruelty when I first met you in Niima Village, and the second that I forcibly separated Colonel Hux and your friend Miss Tico, now Mrs. Namit, who for the purpose of clarity I shall refer to hereafter in this letter as Miss Tico. I first met Colonel Hux in London two years before the event of the ball at which Hux became first acquainted with Miss Tico, and I knew him—and still know him—to be a man who leads a life mainly of cheating at cards, who is a scoundrel, a ruiner of women, and a blackguard of the highest order, who is in the habit of running up debts he cannot pay, and subsequently borrowing more, and so on—I believe at present all his debts come to a sum of over a hundred thousand pounds, and I cannot regard him as even worthy to wear the uniform upon his back. Now, of course, you wish to know why I kept acquaintance with such a man, and why I brought him with me to the ball at Queen's Rise, and if you discover my purpose behind that—I fear that you will think even less of me than you do now, but perhaps my shame in revealing it, and the knowledge that your opinion of me will not have improved, will temper my own affection towards you, so as to pass._

_I was in a public house, in the spring of 18—, three years ago, in London. My father entered the place, and to understand what happened next, you must understand the character of my father and of myself: we had always been at odds. He perpetually considered me a child with too much status and not enough common sense: I always thought of him as low, and not worthy of my noble mother's hand, and partially, I confess, hated myself for being half my father, who enjoyed a leisurely life in the country on my mother's account, and had certainly—in my view—done nothing to deserve it. I had, at the moment he entered, just come from some gathering of other young men of my status—was it at Carlton House? I cannot recall now, how strange—where I had been most cruelly bandied with, on his account, and I had been drinking in the public house in an attempt to temper my wounded pride. It was, I believe, the worst moment he could have entered, seeking me: I challenged him to a duel on the spot, in anger, and he accepted, thinking it would soothe my anger. Hux, who I did not know at the time, leaped up and offered to be my second, and the next day we all met at the chosen place, and used pistols, according to the weapon my father chose._

_What happened after that shall follow me to the end of my days. My father's pistol misfired, and mine did not: I killed him, and the only witness to it all was Hux, as my father had refused a second. In my distress, Hux took advantage and insisted we cover up the duel at once, and say that Father had died from being shot in some accident on the road. That was, to my greatest shame and guilt, what we then did, and from then on Hux used the incident as blackmail against me. Everything he wanted, I was forced to obtain for him; every party or ball he wished to attend, I would accompany him (for who would turn him away with Mr. Solo at his side?), lest he reveal my secret to my mother or to any one else. I am ashamed to say that I watched him ruin several young girls in the course of a year, taking their money to pay his debts and get into more debt, and said nothing at all, kept prisoner by my own cowardice and my despair. One of the girls, to my recollection, was sixteen years old. When he demanded entrance to the ball at Queen's Rise, I gave in, as I always had—and when we entered, my eye fell upon you, as Hux's did. I cannot explain the complexity of my feeling at that moment on paper. Let it only be said that immediately I knew that I would not allow him to ruin you as he had so many others, so I spoke ill of you towards him, hoping to bend his will toward another woman—any other woman, so long as it was not you. It was not gentlemanly of me in that regard, as I should have sought to protect Miss Tico as well once he had made his preference known, but instead, in order to preserve my own secret and let him believe he was still winning at the game between us, I waited until before he decided to propose marriage to Miss Tico to reveal in a manner that made him think I had spoken by accident that the property of Otomok Abbey, and all the money, and all the things in the house, and indeed the clothes on the backs of the Earl and the Countess, are entailed to a cousin, and that the Tico family owns nothing of their own, by virtue of having no immediate male heir, and that upon marriage to Miss Paige he would gain nothing at all: well. He immediately ran back to London and away from what he now viewed, without any prospect of pound sterling to entice him, as a waste of his summer. I remained, relieved, and asked you for a dance, which you obliged me with: you may not wish to remember, so I shall not detail it. After that, when all the guests had gone, I found you asleep on a sofa, left alone, so I carried you upstairs to your room, and after the conversations of the next morning I had thought perhaps that I had set my foot aright at last, and resolved to—I do not know what._

_To my anger, after I returned to London, I found Hux was using my name to run up even more debt, and therefore had to spend months in town dealing with my creditors, my bank, and the man who was responsible, the latter necessitating a deft hand, so that—again—my secret would not be revealed. I received letters concerning my uncle's health, but foolishly considered them to be exaggerations brought on by great concern, and so did not reply, and after some time stopped opening them, for my present difficulties seemed more pressing. When I returned to Queen's Rise that winter, I found my uncle dead, to my horror, and I could see that your opinion of my character had sunk so low so as to possibly be irrecoverable: in my anger I went back to London, in order to throw myself more purposefully into settling my affairs, and when I returned yet again I found you being courted by Namit, but you had rejected his proposal, as you ought to have done: he is a fussy man with no real affection for anyone but his patroness, and you, Miss Skywalker, ought to—_

_I digress from my point: the masque took place, and I found to my fury that Hux had entered disguised as Hades. He had gotten the idea—from who, I do not know, he often perceives faults and errors and meanings where there is none—that the Lady Haynes, Mrs. Tico, had deceived him with purpose to ensnare him for her daughter Paige, and furious with revenge on this imagined slight, he meant to seduce her second daughter, Miss Rose, and ruin the family. I recognized him at once by his walk and got him to the library by pretense of brandy, and once we were alone I threatened him, revealing myself, and told him I did not care what he exposed on my account, and that I would have him shot if he tried to ruin another girl—and God help me, I meant it, every word. I asked him what he would do for money or connections or invitations to parties once he exposed me as a murderer, since no reasonable man would give entrance to the likes of me once he had ruined my reputation, and he checked himself sharply, turning very red, and fixed me with a baleful eye before saying he would hang it all and find another man to blackmail—to which I said that if he thought he could do such a thing after exposing me he had another thing to reckon with, and that I would ensure every man in my circles knew his face for a fraud and a scoundrel from here to Scotland._

_Well—he departed in fury, and I went back to the dance: you know all the rest, how I comported myself loosely and behaved badly: I can only excuse it by saying I was in uncommon high spirits, as a prisoner might, who, having had a weight on his ankles for three years, suddenly finds himself freed. I am not given to very even tempers, and possess the unfortunate trait of looking sullen and angry when my face is still and making no expression—therefore with respect to the tempers, anger becomes rage, and joy becomes giddiness, and all my efforts to suppress my emotions become a mask of unsociable disdain. If only I had any other man's talent of smiling easily and handsomely: perhaps I would have not invited such prejudice as I received. I have not heard again from Hux, and my creditors all tell me that there has been no report of him using my name in London to run debts up: I can only assume he has found another victim to replace the role I have unwillingly taken in his life these past years, or (hopefully) fallen into a ditch insensible, there to stay, or (more hopeful still) been pressed into the Navy._

_This, madam, is a faithful account of all my dealings with Hux, and with regards to its truthfulness, you may inquire as to the facts with my exchequer and my barrister in London. My mother will give you their names and addresses; any prejudice you may hold toward my account by reason of suspecting me to be of low character certainly cannot be applied to two people you have hardly met before, or toward my mother, who I know you think highly of. I hope you will acquit me hereafter of any cruelty towards Miss Tico: everything I did was for her family's benefit, and for the benefit of her person, for she is a friend whom I have known for many years: it was from an imprudent marriage I saved her, and whether she be unhappy in the one she finds herself now in, I cannot say, but at any rate she will be a good deal happier with Namit than with Hux._

_Now for the second charge against me: that I have treated you with cruelty, with abominably bad manners, and in a manner altogether wholly unbecoming to a gentleman of my status and rank. I can only say that my emotions upon meeting you first were complicated by the matter of my father's death, as you now know, and my confusion at finding my uncle, a bachelor of nigh on sixty years who was of no particular Constitution, accompanied by a young and fierce woman who—and I beg you to forgive me for speaking boldly—smelt to high Heaven of that particular Constitution most commonly found in young females. You confounded me at once, and that vexation mingled with the grief and shame I already possessed did nothing to allow me the courtesy I ought to have given you as a ward and friend of my uncle. I had thought that paying off the debt that was owed to the man called Plutt would begin to set right the things I had done wrong at the start, but it did not, and why would it? My behaviors never changed toward you, and all my vexations at my situation in life found a place to crash upon your head: I fear my wealth and all the distrust begotten between myself and Hux had blinded me to the true nature of people, and that is the simple fact, madam, that all the money in the world cannot buy affection or trust. And so I continued on, ever rankling at your perceived slights against me, and at your newfound status, and at what I then perceived as an undeserved inheritance: it was not correct or just of me to have done so, and I am sorrier for it than I can ever say._

_I hope to find some way of putting this letter into your hands today. May God bless you, madam._

The letter was not signed. Rey sank down trembling into her chair, the papers fluttering in her tenuous grasp, and let out a gasp. Mary, coming in with the tea, started at the sight of her. "Ma'am!" she said. "Are you all right?"

"Oh—oh, I hardly know, Mary. Just leave it, thank you." The girl bobbed and left, and Rey read the letter again and again, frantic with shocked horror. So Hux— _Hux_ had been the true villain, all this time, and Solo's only crimes were possessing both proud manners and an inability to moderate his emotions, especially where Rey herself was concerned. How very different everything concerning Solo looked now, in such a markedly changed light! Rey abruptly stood and took her leave from the house, abandoning the tea, and walked aimlessly through the garden and the groves again—forgetting her bonnet and coat, so incredulous was she at all these revelations. She read the letter again and again, and sat on a hedge-stile, wholly ashamed of her own behavior, which seemed poor and dim in this new framing.

"How despicably I have acted!" she cried. "Oh, I have thought myself above all else, and never remembered, never thought to ask if the debt to Plutt had been paid, and all along it was _him_!" She felt as Icarus must have felt, flying too high, exuberant with joy, at the moment he realized his wings were melting: the panic, the shame at his foolishness, the certainly of being dashed into the sea. He must have thought she had known, for what reason would he have to think that she would not? Of course, he would have assumed that she would ask Papa Luke about the debt, as she had been in such terror over it: but it had never occurred to her to pry into the affairs of her dear old friend, especially not where money was concerned, and now—now, she realized with horror that she had owed her freedom to the one man she had thought she loathed most in all the world, and what was more, that he had never told her, nor hung it over her head, nor used it against her at all. Therefore, she reasoned, he could not be a truly cruel man, not at heart, for a cruel and disdainful man would have done that very thing: instead he had been kind and treated her with care, and she had never known at all. _He carried me upstairs to bed,_ she thought, half-shocked by the revelation, but allowed herself to imagine the picture: Solo carrying her up to her room, looking down into her face as he had put her on the bed. Had he lingered there? Had he brushed an errant lock from her face, as he—what on earth was she thinking? "I am mad," she said aloud, and pressed the letter to her nose, snuffling at it like a badger. His scent clung to it, sweet and dark, and she felt something within her tremble in response. No, she would not allow herself any more of these thoughts: the man was ill, likely sequestered in rooms at Gatalenta Park, and even if she had wanted to see him, she must needs wait outside the window, and call up, like Rose's mysterious lover at the masque…

Rose's lover. _Rose's lover!_ Rey almost dropped the letter as the pieces of the puzzle all snapped together at once: Hux, finding himself thrust off by Solo, had lingered and waited to show himself to Rose, and now—now Rose was in London, and seeing him, and of course her Aunt Lettie would think no harm in it, for he was a Colonel, and he might have used any excuse at all to explain why he had left Paige so suddenly—

"Oh, God!" Rey cried, and whirled about in a fright of terror. She must tell him, she _must_ , it would ruin the Ticos if Rose wed Hux and was a slave to his debts! Quickly, she oriented herself toward the road, and began to run, run as if she could never stop, toward Gatalenta Park.

* * *

The stuffy butler who opened the door could not have been more astonished at Rey's appearance than if she was clothed in feathers with a Christmas cracker on her head. "My word," he began, and then he recognized her, and his behavior changed. "Miss Skywalker? Are you in some distress?"

"Please," Rey gasped, pressing a hand to her side. She was near to tears, her hair falling down, and her skirts splattered with mud, and yet she had kept fast hold of the letter. "Please, I must speak to—to Lady Holdo."

"Her Ladyship has departed just this morning for Bath with her daughter," said the butler, taken aback.

"Mr. Solo, then," she panted.

"Mr. Solo is quite indisposed, and not to be—"

"Sir," Rey spat, drawing herself upright, "I know very well he is, and I need to speak to him urgently, since her Ladyship is gone."

"Madam," began the butler delicately, "I do not believe you can fully grasp the extent of Mr. Solo's affliction: to allow your person into the same room would put you both in great danger of—"

Rey was rapidly beginning to lose her temper. "I _do_ understand his afflictions, sir, and if you do not let me pass there will be a young woman of my acquaintance wholly ruined, and it shall be on your head for not allowing me to speak to Mr. Solo."

"I cannot—" protested the butler, and Rey gave up trying to be civil.

"Oh, hang it all," she said rudely, and dashed past him, her aching legs carrying her into the foyer and up the grand stair while the butler spluttered and shouted after her, giving chase as fast as he could follow.

"Here, now, miss! You can't be—"

She ignored him. Solo's scent, thick and overwhelming, flooded every hall, and she followed her nose to where it was strongest: the end of a corridor, emanating from behind a thickly carved wooden door with a scarlet ribbon on the doorknob. The meaning was clear: danger lurked behind that door for certain people, whose company Rey was in, by virtue of her constitution. She took a moment to compose herself. Yes, she would be in danger if she entered, but if she did not, Rose would be—

The thought of Rose in danger goaded her on, and she flung the door wide, darting in and slamming it shut behind her as her heart pounded in fear of the unknown. The room was dim, one curtain parted over a window to allow for light, and Solo was—

Rey looked away from him, trying to quell the frantic beat of her pulse. He was standing by the window, bent over as if in pain, and to her great mortification, he was half-naked, in only his trousers, his bare chest gleaming with sweat as he turned to face her. "What," he growled, his voice gone black, "are you _doing_ here?"

"Please," she began, and after that lost all power of speech. The room was drowning in his scent, full of it: it permeated everything, and idiotically she thought that she would have to wash in lye to get it out of her clothing. Her eyes were drawn unwillingly back to his face, and the expression she found there was both desperate and hopeful, mingled in some awful way.

"Don't," he said hoarsely. "You should not have come." Both eyes trailed across her unkempt form, and he jerked backwards, pressing himself flat against the writing-desk, which had the unfortunate effect of flattening his front-falls against his body, giving shape to something extremely improper, which she immediately averted her eyes from, cheeks afire.

She found her voice. "It is an urgent matter, sir, otherwise I should not have intruded on you at such a time, for I know you are ill."

"Then speak," he said, hands curled fast around the back of the chair at the desk. He was in such utter disarray that she had to take another moment to compose her thoughts, and looked away from him yet again: had he always smelt so utterly delicious, or was that the result of his indisposition?

"I believe," she managed, "or—rather, I have reason to believe that Hux is currently courting Miss Tico, the junior: Rose—of course, she is now the only Miss Tico, as Paige is now Mrs. Namit. I believe he came to her at the masque, and afterward they secretly carried on correspondence. I do not know what to do, sir."

Solo fixed her with such a look that she shrank back, half-believing herself to have imagined the entire thing, and took in a breath: the first real breath he had taken since she had entered, she realized, and the effect it had upon her was terrible; her legs under her chemise nearly gave out as wetness soaked the thin cloth. He took a step towards her, half-staggering, and she could see that the pupils of his eyes had gone wide and dark enough to swallow the color. "London," he said, voice hoarse and shaking. "We must. Go. To London."

She shook her head, backing away despite her body’s desires. "You are in no condition to travel—"

They were interrupted by the butler, opening the door and bursting in, wringing his hands: clearly he had expected to find Rey insensible on the floor, perhaps being outraged by Solo, but instead only found a disheveled and undressed man speaking with an equally as disheveled, but not quite as undressed woman. This was still enough, however, to bring offense to his sensibilities, and he made that very clear. "Sir," he began, puffing for breath, "I apologize most heartily for allowing Miss Skywalker in: she escaped me and ran to your rooms, even though I told her not to disturb you."

"She," Solo snapped, turning on the man, "was bringing me an urgent message of the utmost importance, and ought to be commended for her cleverness. Go and have my carriage prepared. I depart for London as soon as I may."

"But—sir," said the butler, aghast at the very thought of his lord traveling in his condition. "Could you not put it off a few days?"

"I said _now,_ " Solo demanded. "Send that valet up and have him dress me. And get Mrs. D'Acy up here to dress Miss Skywalker in something clean: any of Miss Holdo's travelling things ought to fit her."

"You do not mean—the young lady—travelling _with_ you?"

"I do indeed, as the lady has no objection: the matter cannot wait, not even for my indisposition. Now, are you going to call the valet, or must I chase him down myself?"


	8. Chapter 8

Rey sat in a forest-green traveling habit of Miss Eustacia's across from Mr. Solo in the carriage as they bumped down the road with their two-horse team, driven by white-haired old Mr. Ematt, the coachman. It would take a good two days to reach London, which she did not look forward to, but they had made as many arrangements as possible: the windows were open to the spring air (very wet and damp and chilly) and Solo was swathed in a cloak and scarf, so as to mask the scent of him from Rey's senses. She herself had gotten doused in smelling-salts by Mrs. D'Acy, who was a nervous-looking older woman with tight graying curls atop her head and had no end of remedies for Conditions of Certain Constitutions and how one might protect oneself from gentlemen affected by particular indispositions. So far along, the smelling salts seemed to be working: Mr. Solo had made no advance upon her at all (although that could well be a testament to his own self-control, and not the efforts of Mrs. D'Acy) and stayed rigidly upright on the seat across from her, looking out the window at the trees going by and breathing in great gulps of fresh, clean air. They had not spoken to each other once seated in the coach, and Rey felt the absence of conversation as keenly as a knife: the only other thing that could speak of at the moment that would not induce an argument or bring to mind any affection was the weather, and at present it was only a gray, cloudy day.

He spoke suddenly, and startled her nearly out of her wits. "I brought you," he said in a tone that seemed very strained, "so that firstly, Miss Tico might feel more amiable towards our purpose, and secondly, in order that I might have someone to speak rationally when we arrive at the home of Miss Tico's aunt. It would not do for me to arrive in my condition and attempt to speak to a young lady of—of her constitution."

"And yet," said Rey, "you speak to me, who shares it."

He colored deeply. "Yes. So far." She noticed absently that his eyes were not black and hard as she had thought so long, but gentle and brown, with soft green flecks deep in the irises.

The answer to the next question Rey already knew, but she could not help asking anyway. "Is there nothing that may ease you?"

"Nothing," he said tersely, "that you could do: I will not ruin a young woman for my own lack of self-control. If a young lady may suffer her own indisposition without ruining herself, then I consider it my duty to do the same."

Heat suffused Rey's face: so it was something like the pains which she suffered every month. Curiosity overcame her good sense. "How often are gentlemen of your condition indisposed?"

If he was offended at the question, he did not show it. "Every…I should say, six or seven weeks. Sometimes eight or ten. It is more frequent in the spring, and less so in the winter."

Rey considered this. "I see. How strange."

"Strange? How so?"

"Why, because I am affected every four weeks, but there is no varying in the frequency—I mean to say, that I suffer equal parts by season. I would have thought that gentleman matched the ladies, for purposes of—oh, but I am about to be improper, I beg your pardon."

"Miss Skywalker," said Solo, "we are the pair of us unthinkably sharing a coach, when we are not wed or engaged, without a chaperone, and I in the throes of my r—of indisposition: I beg you to be improper as you desire, for I cannot think that being proper at this moment will improve the situation in which we find ourselves."

Rey had to smile, and hid her face behind her scarf. "It is only that I would have assumed that both gentlemen like yourself and ladies like myself would match timely, so to speak, for the purposes of equal—passion, when such… acts… are necessary in the marriage bed."

"Ah," said Solo, resting his head against the wall of the carriage. "Yes, one might assume so. I am told that when—that after the wedding night, so to speak, everything…between a couple of certain constitutions becomes more timely, and they become closely attuned to each other: I would not know, as I have never had the experience."

"Nor I," said Rey cheerfully: how strange it was to be speaking of such things with a man like this, especially a man who had professed to love her not twelve hours prior. "I hear the process is—" She became suddenly aware of Solo's eyes fixed on her with an uncomfortable intensity, and cut herself short: perhaps it was unwise to engage in such subjects at the moment, after all. "Will we stop for dinner at some place on the road?"

He looked away. "You may. I have no appetite for food."

"Oh, nor do I when I am so indisposed. Tea and toast and broth are all I can get down for four days: it is misery. I recommend attempting to eat: you ought to at least try to keep your strength up. Will that do?"

"It shall," Solo said, huddling further into his cloak. Sweat had beaded upon his brow. "I will beg your forgiveness in advance of any indiscretions you may witness on the journey: I am wholly not in my right mind."

"Of course you have it," Rey said, "and I shan't breathe a word of any indiscretions to anyone, Mr. Solo."

* * *

By the time they stopped for the night, Solo was nearly delirious with rut: Rey felt there was no need to beat about the bush, and so called it by its proper and crude name in her mind. It could be nothing else, not with how he stumbled after her up the stairs in the inn they had got rooms for. He had not eaten all day, and she had asked for a bowl of broth to be sent up with dinner: Maggie, the landlady, had promised it as soon as they had settled in, and now, as Rey struggled with the key to the door, she realized it was stuck, or rusted—in any case, it was not working.

"Damn!" she swore under her breath, and turned to see Solo huddled against the wall, his hands shaking outside his front-falls as he eyed her with a look like a man starved. There was no time: he would shame himself in the hall, and so she strode to the other door, unlocked it, pushed him inside, and shut it behind her, leaving them alone behind the door to the single room. His scent flooded the place almost immediately, and with some terror she realized that the smelling-salts were in her valise, and the effect had worn off. In vain Rey looked around for a closet, or a privy, or anywhere that she could shut herself in, or where he could find refuge and privacy for the purpose of relief. There was nothing. She opened her valise and began to rummage through it—where _were_ the blasted things? Had she left them in the coach?

"Rey," he murmured, and, surprised by the use of her Christian name, she turned to see him bracing himself against the foot of the bed. "Go."

"I cannot: there is nowhere for me to go."

They were interrupted by old Maggie, opening the door with a tray. "Oh, Lord," she uttered, upon seeing them.

"The key to the other room isn't working whatsoever," said Rey, very politely. "Have you another one?"

Maggie shook her head. "No, mercy me! All our rooms are full up, too: my apologies. There shall be _no_ adultery under my roof: the gentleman can sleep in the barn."

Rey bristled. "He certainly shall not—"

"We are lately married," said Solo, with some difficulty. "I am ill, which is why we asked two rooms: never fear, madam."

"Oh! Well, that changes things, that does: I shall see you in the morning, ma'am." And just like that, Maggie was gone, leaving the two of them alone again.

"You lied," said Rey, aghast.

He looked drawn and tired. "Indeed I did. You refuse to let me sleep in the barn, and I refuse to let you sleep in a barn: therefore we must learn to share a room, for the night, and may God help me."

Rey crossed to the table, on which sat the tray: there was meat and bread and butter for her and a bowl of broth for Solo, as she had asked. "Come eat your dinner," she said.

"I am not hungry," he said, with a mulish note to his voice.

She sighed. "I shall pull you over here and pour it down your throat by force, if you do not come eat. It's good hot broth, and you shall need your strength for the rest of the journey."

"I don't want it," he insisted. "I want—" and here his mouth became pressed thin as paper, his eyes downcast.

Perhaps some self-applied relief would do him good. "If you must needs go to the out-house, I shan't stop you."

"I would not be able to reach the bottom of the stairs," he confessed, both enormous hands twisting his cloak as if it was the one thing tethering him to sanity.

"And you say it will only worsen tomorrow? There must be something I can do to help: we shall never reach London if—"

"No," he said, quick and sharp. " _No,_ you shall not ask me that again: I beg you. I will not allow you to debase yourself for my sake." One trembling hand loosed itself from the cloak and passed over his eyes. "I have—I have desired you from the moment I saw you, and it has worsened every moment I have been in your presence: now you offer yourself to me as a _service_? God Almighty, Miss Skywalker, would you give your body to a man you loathe for the sake of your friend?"

Rey flushed furiously. "It needn't be my body I offer: does cold water do nothing?"

"No."

"I have heard bathing in milk and wine does the trick, though I confess I have never tried it myself."

"No."

Rey screwed up her courage to ask the last one. "Nor—self-abasement?"

The sharp little sound of amazement from Solo made her blush even more. "Does such an action ease _you_ , in yours?"

What a question! Dear God, what a _question_ : and yet she found herself answering it as honestly as if she had been asked whether or not eating food eased hunger-pains. "Why, yes: to a degree, I mean, that is to say it does not serve in bringing all to an end, as only time can do that when one has no spouse, but it serves enough to allow me some sleep, and to come to my senses, if only for an hour or so."

Solo paced unsteadily, his breath coming in uneven little gasps. "Christ," he said at last. "How have we come to this?"

Rey thought he was asking in earnest. "For love of Rose Tico, and to thwart a man who would ruin her and her family: what things we do for love!"

He looked at her with astonishment. "Indeed, the things we do for love." He ran his hand down his face again, trembling. "Very well. You—you sit, in that chair, and turn your back to me. I shan't be long. And—and forgive me, I beg you, for all that you may hear."

Rey shook her head. "There is no forgiveness needed, sir." She could not deny that she was mortified by the prospect, but also curious: she had never seen a man engaged in such an action and felt herself quicken in response to the idea. What on earth was she to hear?

The answer to that question came rather quickly that she had thought it might: the sounds of disrobing, at least, or the slip of fabric against fabric—then, a soft cry from Solo, more gentle than she had ever heard before, as the noises of skin pressing against skin met her ears. She knew that one quite well, but as the moments passed, there grew a quality to the sound that put her in mind of rubbing rain-wet arms with a damp hand. There were no more sounds from Solo at all for a minute or two, and at last there came a long release of soft breath, half a moan, so quiet that Rey hardly heard it.

"Are you all right, sir?" she ventured when she felt the silence had become unbearable, crimson to the ears.

When he spoke, he sounded weary, but there was an element of clarity to his voice she had not heard all day. "I am a fool. You could have stepped into the hall, and you ought to have done so. Now I have mortified myself."

"What, and expose a young lady of my delicate constitution to any dangerous man of a particular disposition that may be in the inn?" She turned and gave him a raised eyebrow. "Indeed not."

He was, thank God, decent: his front-falls done up, but wearing an ill look. "They could not possibly have done you any more harm than I have just done."

Rey rolled her eyes. "Harm? Ha! I have seen and heard nothing offensive to my sensibilities. You forget one thing, sir: you are not a dangerous man where I am concerned, I have satisfied myself in that regard."

"How so?"

"Why, you could have forced me, or done any indignity to me that you wished, and yet here I sit unmolested, and you in the throes of your—of your illness: you certainly pose no threat."

"You forget," he said darkly, "that it is still only the first day, madam."

"I hear that the first is the worst," Rey replied. "Or at least, that is what is commonly said."

He looked drained. "You have heard incorrectly: if you vex me in the carriage tomorrow, I may have to take precautionary measures and ride with Mr. Ematt."

"If anyone rides with the driver, it shall be me: now come and eat your broth before you fall asleep."

She gave him the spoon and he sat by her, getting all of it down: with the distraction caused by his infirmity of body dulled, Solo had a sharp appetite, and even managed some of her bread and meat before muttering his apologies and excusing himself to the door.

"Whatever are you doing?" Rey asked.

"Sleeping here: then you shall be undisturbed in the night. I do not mind it."

"Nonsense: you are ill. I shall sleep on the floor."

"You are a lady, madam: I will not allow that."

"And I shall not allow you to, either: therefore we are at an impasse, and as my will is quite as strong as yours, I see that the only compromise we may settle upon shall be for us to share the bed, or for myself to retreat to the stable and sleep in the hay. As you would never allow me to go and sleep in such a place on account of the fact that I am female, it must be the former."

He went pale. "I cannot—I could not share a _bed_ —"

Rey sighed. "Then I shall put thistles between us. Do not be impractical, Mr. Solo. I trust that you have controlled yourself so far: I have nothing to fear."

"You ought not to trust me so," he said softly. "I do not know what I have done to earn it."

How was she to express the complexity of her feeling towards this man? She could not. Rey only looked away. "I shan't sleep in my corset, but—"

"Oh, God," he said, sounding agonized. "I beg you, Miss Skywalker, do not speak to me of corsets or chemises or—or other unmentionables: I am not in a condition to consider such things."

"Forgive me," she said, chastised. "Then—then you must turn your back, so that I may complete my evening toilette."

He turned away from her, facing the wall, and she quickly disrobed, down to her underthings, before struggling to unlace her corset: it was only short stays, but that did not make reaching the back laces any easier. In vain she stretched and strained and tried to grasp the laces, but alas: one needed a maid for this sort of thing, and there was no maid here.

"Are you in need of assistance, madam?" asked Solo, still facing the wall.

"No," Rey said shortly, contorting her arm into an angle that God certainly could not have intended when he shaped Man from dust. "Oh, hang it all: yes, I do, I cannot unlace this blasted thing."

"I see. One moment." Solo seemed to brace himself, bolstering up his resolution, then turned, and in a very businesslike fashion marched directly over, eyes downcast, and deftly unlaced her corset. She might have thought that he was unaffected at all, save for the great heat in his body and the way his fingers shook as he pulled the laces loose. "There. Is that sufficient?"

"It is," she informed him, slipping the things off and turning to face him. "Oh—" She quickly reached up to cover herself with her arms, as the only thing now between him and her body was her chemise, a layer of thin silk only, but the damage was done: he stared at her throat and breast with undisguised hunger in his eyes, and she suddenly thought that perhaps, _perhaps_ being ruined by such a man would be no bad thing. The scent of him drowned her wholly: dark and dangerous and sweet, and she stepped closer, entirely undone by instinct, to press her hands to his broad, hot chest. Solo groaned audibly and caught her about the waist, thick fingers trembling, to pull her closer, and her belly pressed against an offending object behind his front falls, eliciting a grunt that was more animal than man from Solo as he breathed in the scent of her hair, her naked skin. The instinct to embrace him was banished by reason as quickly as it had come and Rey tore herself away quickly, snatching up the only weapon in the room: the knife sent up to cut her meat with. She pointed it at Solo with a firm and unmoving hand. "Now, see here, sir; you will do as I say!"

His eyes found hers again, and he swallowed, the pale throat bobbing, but he did not move from his spot on the floor. "Madam, I am at your disposal," he managed, very strained.

In vain, she scrambled for a thing to say, and settled upon just the solution. "You will—you will close your eyes: I shall get into bed, and once I alert you, then you may lie atop the coverlet, _not_ beneath it, and in this manner we shall both remain civil. Is that agreeable to you?"

Something about his expression told her that this was _not_ agreeable, but the moment passed, and Solo nodded. "It is," he said, and shut his eyes instantly, waiting. Rey saw sweat on his brow again, and wondered at the fire that must build within him to force him into such passions, and the control he must possess to overcome them.

"Good. One moment." She took the knife to bed, and crawled in at once under the sheets, cocooning herself in linen and wool until only her head peeped out, the knife under her pillow. "Now, sir, you may lie down." Solo opened his eyes and crossed the room. She shut her eyes tight as he removed his trousers and all clothing apart from his smallclothes and shirt, and felt the bed sink on the right side as he lay down. Rey opened one eye and saw that he was so tall that when his head was on the pillow, his feet hung past the foot. "If you must—relieve certain—pressures upon your body," she said, haltingly, "you may do it in the room: I know that the—the passions may rise quickly, there being no time to get to a privy—and anyway I shall be sleeping, so I shan't mind it."

Solo took a soft, shuddering breath. "Thank you. You are very kind," he said, and Rey knew then that she was going to remain as safe as if she was in a nunnery in this bed, and the exhaustion of the day crept up on her, and she slept.

* * *

She woke to Solo speaking. "Up with you, if you please," he said shortly, already fully dressed as he walked the room in some kind of feverish concentration. "Miss Skywalker. We have toast and tea and cold ham: up with you."

Dazed, she sat up and rubbed her eyes. The room smelt of him, even stronger than it had last night, and beneath his stifling scent there was some earthier and stranger thing still that she could not make sense of. "Oh, it is stuffy in here," she said, and got out of bed, using a blanket as a robe, to fling the window wide. A great gust of gray spring air blew in, wet and cold, and the vapors in the room dissipated. Solo gulped a great breath and some of the high color faded from his cheeks. "Why did you not open it?"

"I did not think of it," he answered. "I—I have been otherwise occupied," and then she saw the stained, crumpled linen in the corner of the room, and knew what had occupied him, and also what the strange smell was.

"I see. I shan't ask you to help me with my things, then." Rey did not think any proximity to her person would mollify his state, but he looked wounded and sullen as she picked up her clothing.

"I want to help," he said, hands trembling. "I want—will you allow me—"

"I fear it will only excite your body to passions I cannot ease, sir—"

"You—you shall be in the carriage all day in no corset," he managed, color suffusing his face again. "Oh, God; I apologize, I did not—"

Rey darted to her valise and found the erstwhile salts, then broke open the lid and whirled about, holding them to his nose, and he coughed, spluttered, and found his footing again, some semblance of reason returning to his manners. "Is that better?"

"Only temporarily, I fear: I thank you all the same," Solo said gloomily. "I can help you now, if you require it."

"Yes, thank you." She washed her face in the basin provided and gave him another healthy sniff of salts before allowing him to lace her corset back up, which he did with steadier hands—and she thought he might be holding his breath, but that was his business. She redressed in the habit from the day previous, and after breakfast (where he sat by the window and shivered his way through ham and bread, and she sat at the table) they went down, Solo bolstered on a third whiff of smelling-salts, and Rey paying the landlady with his money.

Once secured in the carriage, Solo nearly collapsed into a shivering mess while Rey conferred with the coachman on the fastest way to London. "Miss Skywalker," he said, trembling as she got into the coach and looking as if he was warring within himself. "I beg you—no, I cannot, I cannot—"

"I know very well how hard it is for you," she said as kindly as she could, and then flushed at the double _entendre_. "That is—I understand your pains: we all say and do such things as we never would, in the times when we are not in our right minds."

"Perhaps these times," he said, curt and rough, "are the only times when we are in our right minds, Miss Skywalker. Perhaps at heart I truly am a—a ruiner of young ladies, akin to Hux, who doggedly desires that which he cannot have, and—and loathes himself for it."

"If you were a ruiner of young ladies in the ordinary way," said Rey sternly, "I would have been ruined at the masque, or even last night: yet I remain safe and sound. Don't be silly."

"The masque," he croaked, leaning back. His eyes were bright, his cheeks fever-flushed, and his black hair stuck to his brow with sweat. "God help me, I wanted—to catch you up, away, to—to— _no,_ I cannot say it. I beg you to ride outside, madam: I cannot tolerate your presence today, and I would remove myself, only I am afraid I might kill Ematt if he so much as breathed."

"Yes, I think that would be best: you keep the salts," said Rey quickly, and scrambled back out as fast as she could, to clamber up on the seat next to Mr. Ematt.

* * *

They did not stop the whole day through, and passed through London's boroughs, its towns, and finally to its heart as the lamps were being lit and the cobblestones were wet with rain and damp. Mr. Ematt turned about into a large courtyard, and clicked at the horses. "Here we are, ma'am," he said, touching his cap. "This is Star's End, his Lordship's town-house. Might be as you'd like to check on His Lordship; he ain't well, I know."

"I shall, I am worried: thank you, Mr. Ematt," said Rey, and got down, stretching her legs at last and opening the carriage door as servants began to pile out of the house at the unexpected arrival of their master.

Within, it reeked of salts and that crude earthy smell she remembered from the inn, and Solo was insensible, splayed out and sleeping fitfully, his trousers undone and stained with—oh, _God!_ Rey whipped about, scarlet, and pressed her hanky to her mouth. It would not do to play the part of shy maid here, in front of all his servants and staff: he must be treated well and politely, and she must play sane hostess to preserve his dignity. "Who is butler here?" she asked.

"I am, ma'am," said a tall, sensible-looking sort of man who wore spectacles. "Mr. Smith, at your service."

"Mr. Smith, very good: I am Miss Skywalker, companion of his Lordship's mother. Mr. Solo is in a very bad way: it will not do for the maids to see him in this state, as he is not decent, and he must be gotten inside at once. We have come on business so urgent that had it been any less, we would not have traveled in his state. You understand."

"I understand completely, ma'am." Smith turned sharply. "Mrs. Kanata, send the women back inside: you may wait in the hall and show Miss Skywalker to the best rooms. Evans! Barrowman! You two come and help me with his Lordship."

Rey stepped aside, sheer relief overtaking her as the ladies rushed back in at a word from the formidable little Mrs. Kanata and the gentlemen extracted Solo from the coach, his head lolling. She had never seen him look so utterly helpless, and fear began to crawl over her: what if it took him several days to recover wholly, and they had no time to save Rose? No, that was silly: surely a big, strong man such as he was would be recovered by the morning. It was late the second day, and even some of her indispositions only really lasted three.

"I must send a letter," she said to Mrs. Kanata as she came inside. "Immediately. Do you know where Mrs. Violet Tico's sister, Leticia, lives?"

"Indeed I do: Miss Letty has been known to the family for years," said Mrs. Kanata, her wrinkled old face creasing into a smile. She wore enormous spectacles that seemed to magnify her eyes, and could not have been over five foot tall. "I can give you her address straightaway, and have one of the errand boys take a letter."

"Oh, thank you, I shall get it off immediately!" Rey rushed into the nearest room, snatched up a paper and pen, and hastily scribbled out: _Dearest Rose—I am in London. Please do not do anything rash with your gentleman friend: I am calling to-morrow with Mr. Solo, and we have much to tell you. –Rey._ She sanded the paper, swept off the sand, and ran back out, pressing it into Mrs. Kanata's hands.

"I shall put it into the hands of the boy myself," said the housekeeper. "You go on up to bed: you have had a troublesome and long day."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot express how amazed I am that everyone is loving this fic so much. Come find me @neon_heartbeat on twitter!


	9. Chapter 9

Rey woke the next morning, rather late, in a lavish four-poster with velvet coverlet and silken skeets. She did not remember undressing, but she must have, for she was in her chemise, and one sniff to her under-arms confirmed that she needed to bathe.

A maid entered, inquiring after her health, to which Rey said she very much would like a hot bath, and shortly after that she found herself in the seat of luxury, submerged in a great copper tub, while another maid washed her hair out.

"Good morning, ma'am," said yet another maid (how many _did_ Solo employ?), coming in and dropping a curtsey. "A letter's come for you."

"A letter!" Rey leaped from the bath at once and took the proffered item from its silver tray, tearing the envelope open and ferociously perusing the contents. As she read, however, ignoring the maid putting a robe round her, her heart sank.

_My dear Miss Skywalker—_

_I hope you do not find it rude of me to respond to you in the place of my niece, Miss Tico; and yet I must do so, seeing the urgency of your note, and also seeing that you spoke of a rash decision with a gentleman friend: it bring me no joy to tell you what I do now, as I know you are a close friend to Rose. Sometime last evening the young lady left the house, leaving a note behind on her bed saying only that she was eloping with a Mr. Hux, and that she was very sorry if it caused any vexation, but that she must go, and to give her regards to her family. I confess myself all in pieces, as I had no knowledge of any such plans, and must now beg the forgiveness of her mother, who placed the girl in my charge._

She did not bother reading the rest, as it was only the signature: she forgot she was indecent and in only a bathing-robe, and that her hair was wet and undressed. "Is Mr. Solo recovered yet?" she asked the maid who had brought her the letter. “Able to travel at all?”

"Not yet, ma'am: Mr. Smith says perhaps in another two days—"

Rey clutched the robe to herself. "Take me to his room at once."

The maid looked utterly horrified. "Ma'am! I can't do that, it's wholly improper and not done—"

Rey stamped her foot. "Oh, stop telling me what is proper and what is not. Get me smelling salts and _bring me to Solo!_ "

The girl did not need to be told again, and rushed from the room, Rey in hot pursuit with her robe flapping about madly. Upstairs they went, and across a hall to the other side of the house, and finally the woman showed her a thick walnut door, shut fast, handed her a vial, and without speaking turned away and left.

Rey set her chin stubbornly and turned the latch, opening it into a veritable fog of humors that she held her breath against. It was dim in the room, and she stepped in, calling as bravely as she could, "Mr. Solo?"

A low moan answered her from the bed, and she turned to look: the whole of the enormous four-poster had been torn apart and re-arranged into a sort of nest, the coverlets and sheets piled up and pushed about, and in the center lay Solo. He was curled languidly on his side, dressed in his night-clothes and a robe, which the valets must have put him in the night before: he was breathing in great gasps of air, and catching her scent, lifted his head, sighting her and trembling all over. "Miss—Rey," he whispered, as if her name was agony: his face twisted into an expression of worshipful shock, and he slid all off the bed, crawling to her on his knees with face uplifted. "You came—you cannot—be here—" Rey marched directly to Solo, knelt, and uncapped the vial under his nose. He choked sharply, coughed, and gripped her wrist with one hand, pulling it away as he grimaced. "Enough. I am all right."

Rey tore her hand away, half-afraid that even that touch might excite him. "You are most certainly not, and what's more, Rose has already gone—I have just got a letter from her Aunt Letitia and she and Hux have eloped: _now_ what am I to do?" She handed him the letter, and he held it, looking down and reading.

Solo went as pale as milk in the gloom as he looked up again. "Oh, God," he said, stricken. "This is my fault: my foolishness led us here. I ought to have told her parents the moment I knew, but I did not think Hux had it in him to be so bold."

"They will be going to Gretna Green, of course, as Rose is not yet twenty-one," said Rey, frantically trying to think over the distracting smell of him, the smell of the whole room. "It is a three day's journey, and they left—what, four hours ago: if we go now, we may yet overtake them on the road."

"I cannot go," said Solo, jaw clenched tight. The power of speech seemed to come hard by him, and he gulped another breath of smelling salts, his large hand clasped about her small one, holding both to his face. "I cannot go, and you cannot overtake them without me, for the character of Hux is such that were you alone, he would attempt to have harm done to you."

Rey was surprised. "Surely not with Rose there?"

Solo’s long jaw clenched. "And should you appear alone to the pair of them outmatched, claiming I had told you so and so without the presence of my own person, do you think Rose would believe your tale of the man she believes she loves?"

Dread sprang into life somewhere in Rey's belly: she was trapped here, while Rose hurtled toward shame and ruin every moment, powerless to stop it at all, unless—

Oh, now that "unless" was a thought awful to consider: the one thing that would ease all Solo's infirmities and allow them to overtake Rose and Hux together was the one thing that neither of them could do, Solo for his conscience and Rey for her virtue, and _yet—_

"Would you say, Mr. Solo, that to save a friend in great danger of losing her virtue, one might cast aside one's own virtue or conscience momentarily, and it be—not a great sin?" she ventured.

He looked as if she had struck him, and dropped her hand at once. "I will _not_ allow you to—"

"Allow me! Allow me?" Rey paced, her emotions so excited that she could hardly keep still. "It is not, Mr. Solo, a question of allowing me: the question posed is this—giving up all one might hold dear in order to save a friend from ruin is a virtue in itself, I believe, and there is nothing I would not do for Miss Tico, no, sir; not a thing I would not do! Fear nothing for my virtue, as I have a fortune: I will get on splendidly without any concern, but Miss Rose is not afforded the same privilege, in either matter of virtue or of fortune, so it is my duty to assist her."

"I can well accept that," said Solo tightly, "and yet I—I—" His face colored marvelously, and he turned away, shuddering. "God," he said hoarsely, as if with great effort. "God, how I desire you: how I have abused myself on your account! If we do this thing, Miss Skywalker, then there can be—there must be—we must not speak of it again, and treat it only as a—a passing thing, a dream. I know—" and here his face contorted into a moue of pain— "I know that you loathe me entirely, and think of me as a man of low character: therefore I am all the more touched that you would do this thing so disgusting to your sensibilities, for love of Miss Tico."

"Whether it be disgusting or no, I shan't know until it is over," replied Rey, feeling nearly lightheaded at the prospect. "But if I understand my education about the matters aright, you shall be soon recovered once the act is finished, and well enough to travel: and if you wish it, then no, I shall never speak of it again."

Solo nodded, strode to the door, and flung it wide. A valet was at the ready, and jerked to attention: he did not see Rey. "Go and tell them to get the carriage ready at once," ordered Solo, and the man raced off instantly. Mr. Solo turned and shut the door again, and gradually the enormity of what Rey had decided to do dawned on her as she sat at the foot of the bed.

God Almighty! to allow a man to bed her out of wedlock, and not only a man, but an A, who were supposed to be more virile and dangerous than the other sorts? Rey became suddenly aware with great discomfort that she was naked beneath the robe, and unconsciously moved back as Solo approached the bed. "Sir," she whispered, hardly daring to breathe. It would not be making love, not in the least: it would only be a sort of medical assistance, would it not? Only to allow him relief, relief that could come no other way: that was all the reason she allowed it, surely—it was not for the breadth of his shoulders or the gentleness she knew his hands possessed, or the softness of his mouth. No, only for practicalities! She swallowed hard.

"I—" He grimaced, and ran a hand across his face, and when he spoke next, the manner was so markedly different from how he had spoken to her earlier that she stared in pity. "Rey. Miss Skywalker. It hurts, it hurts so much: I am sorry for what I must do."

"Do what you must, then," she said with calm resolve, and, finding no other place to go, lay herself down flat on her back on the bed, fists at her sides and her toes pointed, every muscle ready for an onslaught of passion.

Solo did not attack her, nor leap upon her like an animal. He instead very carefully undid the front falls of his underthings, and slowly climbed upon the bed, hands trembling as he drew aside her robe to expose her nakedness, but only from the waist down. She did not look at him, only stared at the canopy above the bed. "Forgive me," he said, brokenly, "I shall not—I shall outrage you as little as I can."

The heat from his body was palpable: she was drowning in the scent of him, the delicious warm sweetness. "Go on, then," she murmured, and shut her eyes tight in terror as one of his hands, large and clumsy and shaking, drifted between her legs and felt the soft curls there, then dipped behind them, to the pink flesh that even now was wetting and warming to him, despite her apprehension of the act. Rey swallowed hard: his rough fingers felt pleasant, after all: perhaps this would not be—

Her thoughts were interrupted as he removed his hand and something much larger and blunter pressed against her privy parts, into the most secret place of her body: Rey squeaked in surprise and Solo groaned what may have been meant to be an apology, but which was wholly incoherent. He reached down and touched her again, and she felt herself warm even more, surrounded by the scent of him, and thought that perhaps he might kiss her if he liked: she would take no offense—

The thought of being kissed did something peculiar, and the next thing she knew she was sopping wet, bringing her knees up and gasping as he drove himself home, and _nothing_ had ever felt so good, or belonging, or lovely. It did not matter that she would be ruined, or that she ought to be ashamed: she never wished for this to stop. Rey cried out and threw her arms about Solo's neck out of instinct (draw him closer, pull him down to her breast!) and Solo shoved hard with his hips, moving them both across the bed and driving himself ever deeper. A ragged cry escaped his lips, and he shook his head frantically against her throat as his body moved against and into hers in a solid, punishing rhythm. "Rey," he sobbed, hot tears falling on her skin. "Rey, Rey, _Rey_ —"

She tried in vain to think of what to call him, but he had never invited her to call him by his Christian name. "It's—all right—sir—"

" _Ben_ ," he groaned, mouth opened against her cheek. "Call me. Ben."

She clutched him tight by the sweat-damp linen on his back. "Ben. It's all right, Ben: it'll be over soon."

"That," he gasped, tears glittering in his lashes, "is what I am most afraid of."

 _Kiss me,_ she thought, dizzy with it all, _you said you loved me, why can't you just kiss me?_ But he did not, only shut his eyes and kept moving, thrusting and rutting like an animal, until at last he drove deep into a place she had not ever touched, or known existed. A long, guttural moan burst from his throat, as if drawn forth by force, as the copulatory tie swelled and swelled and locked them tight together in an immovable bond. Rey yelped at the strangeness of it, but he kept her down by instinct, trembling atop her as he released at last, gone boneless against her with his mouth pressed to her throat. It felt very satisfying, to be filled so, and Rey wriggled slightly, stifling a little at the sensation of being trapped, but rather enjoying the experience on the whole, apart from how heavy he was atop her.

"Don't move," Solo said rather sleepily, mouth gone soft and heavy with relief. "I beg you."

"I didn't mean to hurt you: I am sorry," she said, chastised, and remained still beneath him. "You are very heavy," she offered a moment later, as he showed no signs of moving from his position atop her.

He stirred at that, seeming to wake from the trance that the climax had thrust him into. "Oh—here," he said, and in one swift movement he had rolled her over, pulling her atop himself with one hand at the small of her back and the other cradling her head, so that she lay atop him, still tied together. "Does that give you some relief?" His hands left her quickly, more quickly than she thought she might have liked.

"It does," she said with as much dignity as she could muster. "Thank you." It rather left her in the awkward position of having to lie on him wholly, or raise herself by her arms, and as she did not quite trust her own stamina in that regard, or wish to expose her nude body to him lest it offend, she delicately and carefully lay her head upon his chest, tucked close under his chin, and kept her robe closed fast with one hand trapped beneath their bodies. Another minute passed, and she sighed. "How long does it take to, ah—"

"A few minutes more, and all shall be done with," he said. His arms lay at his sides as if in military rest: he seemed unwilling to touch her. "I am sorry. Are you hurt much?"

She flushed deeply. "Not at all—that is, I do not think so. It was not a painful experience, past the first part."

"I am sorry to have caused you pain at all," he said. "It was not with malice."

Rey blinked and raised her head to look at him at last. "Oh, of course not, sir: you are not malicious. I am sorry to have caused you any mortification or embarrassment."

He was still looking at the ceiling, and not at her, but his face had gone shuttered and closed, as if all the softness had fled it. "You have caused me none, madam: I have caused it to myself. Shall we discuss the particulars of our journey, now that I am sound of mind?"

"Yes, indeed." Rey lifted her breast from his and braced herself up to speak, glad of the distraction. "Firstly, we ought to make as quick as we can for Greta Green, so that we might overtake them. Has Hux a carriage, do you know?"

Solo raised his brow and looked down at her. "Not that I am aware, why do you ask?"

"Because her Aunt Letty only has one coach, and that is a one-horse town carriage; it is not fast at all, and they can only have taken that."

An amused expression crossed his face. "And how do you come to know the particulars of Aunt Letty and her methods of travelling, madam?"

"Why, I read the letters Rose sends me, and remember what she says, sir: she was ever so distraught two months back when they had to take it to a grand affair at the Opera House, for she felt very poor indeed in it, and it was their only choice—they had no other carriage."

"I see you are perceptive indeed," said Solo. "I have given orders for the coach to be made ready, and that takes two horses to draw, so we may yet overtake them."

Rey smiled. "Good! I ought to also bring the letter from Aunt Letty, and I believe that seeing you at my side will be enough of a shock for Rose to come to her senses."

"Indeed," said Solo, half-bitterly. He shifted beneath her, and to her surprise (and some displeasure, which was an unexpected emotion) she felt him loosen, then slip away and out of her body. "There. I believe I am recovered entirely, thanks to you."

"Oh," said Rey, sitting up and still holding her robe shut. Suddenly she felt she could not look at him at all, and looked instead at the dark-paneled walls, the carpet, the curtains. "That—that is very good, then: shall we part ways to dress and make ready? I shall meet you outside in the courtyard." She stole a glance at him: after all, it was polite to look at someone when speaking to them.

He regarded her with an expression of—was it disappointment, or disdain, or sadness writ on his strange face? She could not discern it. "Yes, I think you had better go, and be quick about your toilette: it will not do to be late."

* * *

Rey made ready as quick as she could, and found it necessary to sit on a cold wet cloth while Mrs. Kanata dressed her hair. The habit was another borrowed one from Miss Eustacia, this one in maroon, and she felt it was too long in the sleeve, but otherwise a decent fit. Mrs. Kanata was no-nonsense about the hair, and merely twisted it all up to her crown, pinned it, and handed her a hat. "I shall go see that you have a hamper packed," she told her, and whisked off, quick as a mouse, through the door.

Being left alone with her thoughts was nigh unbearable. Rey removed the wet linen from between her thighs and stood, wincing as places within and without that had never yet been used so before protested such outrage. The linen was stained with very faint blood, and she thought ruefully that being pinked so was no great pain after all: why did everyone make such a great fuss out of the process? Her feelings toward Solo had become so complex that she preferred to shut them away, and not consider them until after all with Rose was set aright: there would be time later.

Hurrying along the corridor, she became aware that the house was very fine, and decorated in excellent, elegant taste: there was none of Lady Holdo's lavish and opulent style here. The lines were clean, the colors subdued, and every painting and curtain and sculpture was set just so, as precise and unmoving as their master. She descended to the first floor, and took the hamper from Mrs. Kanata, thanking her as graciously as she was able, before going out to the courtyard.

Solo was waiting by the ready carriage, Mr. Ematt again in the driver's seat, and Solo was dressed immaculately from hat to travelling-boot with a walking-stick, looking formidable indeed. She could hardly believe that this was the same man who had begged her to call him Ben, who—but no! There would be no dwelling on the act: they had promised each other. "Miss Skywalker," he said, bowing slightly.

"Mr. Solo," she replied, and he helped her step up into the carriage. She clutched his fingers perhaps with more force than was strictly necessary, but he did not seem to take notice, and got in after her, shutting the door and thumping on the roof with his walking-stick. They sped off, rattling down the road, and Rey looked out the window, consciously not looking at Solo.

He spoke first, once they had cleared the borders of the city. "Are you—are you in any pain, madam?"

"I am not," she answered, cheeks coloring at the memory. "Only some mild discomfort: it shall pass."

"Ah," he said, and then there was another mile-long stretch of silence. "My staff are discreet and quiet sorts of people," he said at length. "You need not fear your reputation ruined by careless gossip."

It was intended to reassure, but Rey straightened her back. "I thought you wished not to speak of it, sir," she said coldly, and Solo's expression changed to one of downcast resignation.

"No, I did not: forgive me," he said quietly, and so they carried on, silent in each other's company all the way to the Scottish border.

* * *

The weather was graying and clouded by the time they reached the bordering towns of Gretna Green, and it was only by Rey looking out the window very hard that they caught sight of Rose and Hux: a head of gingery hair accompanying a smaller young lady with jet-black locks, stepping out of a milliner's shop.

"It is them!" she cried, and Solo started in surprise, then beat on the roof. He did not wait for Mr. Ematt to halt, but threw the door open and leapt from the moving carriage, making Rey cry out as he landed square and agile on both feet and marched, cane under his arm, for the pair as the coach hurtled away.

"Oh, stop, stop: he shall be killed!" Rey cried at Mr. Ematt, who halted accordingly in the street, and let her out. She turned, looking, and saw them some distance down the road, Solo looking down at Hux, Rose clinging to Hux's arm. Quickly, she began to hurry, Aunt Letty's missive clutched in one gloved hand.

"You are mad," said Rose to Solo, trembling as Rey neared the group. "I know you to be a rude and unfeeling man, and here you are, attempting to part me from my beloved Hux—"

"Rose!" shouted Rey, and the girl goggled in astonishment, eyes lighting on the figure in maroon wool. "Rose, for God's sake, I beg you to tell me if you are wed yet!" Her hand pressed to her side, she had an awful running-pain, and the street was very long.

"No!" Rose said, aghast. "Rey, whatever are _you_ doing here?"

"I came with Mr. Solo," she replied, and watched as Rose's eyes went to Solo, then Rey again, then Hux with new light in them.

"You came with _him_?" she asked, astonished. "But I thought you loathed the man."

"Any loathing I might have felt for him has been wholly washed away by the great concern he has shown for your sister's safety and reputation, and for yours: you cannot wed Mr. Hux, Rose. Speak to any one concerned closely with Solo's affairs: speak to Lady Solo—"

"I warn you, Solo," said Hux, purpling. "One more word from this little lightskirt, and I shall reveal you to the—"

"Oh, go bugger yourself," Rey snapped, which brought high color to the cheeks of all present. "I know his secret, and what's more, I know yours, and of the two I find yours more severe on account of fault. I should rather Rose wed Mr. Solo than you, for Mr. Solo is not eye-deep in debt and a ruiner of women, but a decent man indeed of high character."

Solo colored even deeper at the compliment. "Thank you, madam: suffice it to say that we are taking Miss Rose home at once."

"My darling," Hux entreated, turning to his intended. "You cannot believe the words of these two: why, Mr. Solo himself told me that Miss Skywalker was unhandsome and low-born, and yet here he stands with her as companion: what a liar he is!"

"No," said Rose, looking at Rey. "No, Armitage: he may be a dark and dour man, but Rey has ever been truthful towards me, and a bosom friend, and if she stands here now with Mr. Solo, who I know she would not willingly travel with unless some awful emergency bid her do so—no. Oh, I have been a fool indeed; knowing nothing about you, and agreeing to run away, since I thought it would have been a better match than my sister had made! I had thought Mama would be proud of me, snapping up what Paige had lost. I see that I was wrong."

"And I have been a fool, and wrong on all accounts where Mr. Solo was concerned," said Rey. "Come back with us, Rose. Your aunt is in a state."

As she reached out to entreat her friend, Hux, his face all contorted in fury, drew a pistol from inside his jacket, and aimed it directly at her: Rey gasped, and hurled herself forward to seize Rose away, but Solo pulled her back by the arm with such strength that the two women tumbled to the street. With a shout, he raised the walking stick in his hand, presumably to strike Hux with it.

Hux snatched it from him with remarkable force and brought it down hard across Solo's face, splitting skin with a horrible sound. "Damn you!" he screamed. Solo staggered. Blood spattered across Rose and Rey's clothing, and Rose let out a scream of shock, nearly fainting, but Rey did not so much as move from her place as Hux raised the pistol and pointed it at her—and Solo, bleeding noiselessly, leapt in front of her and grabbed the muzzle of the thing, shoving it away from her body. The pistol fired, a puff of smoke filling the air about them so thickly that Rey could not see whether it had hit anyone or no. Solo caught up his stick again and brought it down with a hiss of parting air, directly on the pale hand that clutched the pistol. Hux let out a thin, high scream, and dropped the weapon, cradling his broken hand as Rose darted to Rey's side, clutching her arm in terror.

"Are you shot?" she cried, shaking her.

Rey felt no pain at all as she stood, her heart pounding and her legs trembling. "No, no, I do not think I—"

Solo advanced yet again and pointed his walking-stick at Hux's form. "You, sir, will lay no hand on this woman so long as I live," he said in black tones, half his face a mask of crimson. A constable, alerted by the gunshot, was making for them, and Rey hailed him.

"Constable! This man attempted to shoot me in the street and has nearly killed this gentleman." She pointed at Hux.

"Indeed, ma'am, I heard it: we shall arrest him. Someone call a doctor for the gentleman's face. You're not hurt?"

"No: I believe it misfired." She embraced Rose tightly, and Rose began to weep as the constable listened to what Solo had to say, and after Hux had been dragged off, Solo turned to her, looking very poorly indeed, and said:

"Miss Skywalker, I beg your forgiveness yet again. I believe I have been shot."

He had been: the ball had gone directly into his breast, and his impeccable shirt was blooming as scarlet as his face. Rey sent Rose to get the doctor to hurry and kept her head about her: the wound must be staunched, the patient kept still, so she made him lie down in the dust of the road and pressed her handkerchief to his chest, and his own handkerchief to his torn cheek.

"It seems I cannot go a day without inconveniencing you, madam," he said faintly from his place on the ground. "It is a pity. I should rather have died in a field, with the grass under me, not in the high street of Gretna Green. How undignified."

"You," said Rey, "are not going to die. Do not be ridiculous. I see the doctor coming now, with Rose flying behind him like a little bird: you will be all right. It is a small wound, a small thing."

That was all she kept saying, _a small wound, a little thing only,_ until his eyes, so fixed on hers, shut, and no matter how she shouted and tried to rouse him, they did not open again.


	10. Chapter 10

Solo woke gradually. He was lying on something comfortable, and diverse scents filled his nose: the sweet, fruity, flowery scent of Rose Tico, the fresh air blowing in from somewhere, the smell of a half-eaten biscuit, tea, clean linen, and the deep, gently musky, spicy scent of Miss Rey Skywalker. He roused at once, lifting his head, only to be pushed down by Miss Tico, whose dark, worried eyes appeared in his sight as he lay back. "Careful, Mr. Solo: you must lie still."

"Shot," he said roughly, and coughed: he had not known his thirsty he was. A spot high on his left breast burned like fire when he moved, and his face ached like the devil. A pad of cloth had been bound on it, so as to blind his right eye.

"Yes, you were shot, and your face is wounded. Have no fear: Hux has been arrested and we are all of us quite safe. We are in the home of a local gentleman who made us welcome: in fact, he is acquainted with your mother, sir. Lord Tekka, a burly old Scot, to be sure, but as kind a man as I have met, and your mother has written, saying she sends some staff to help us as you recover." Rose brought him a cup of water, and he drank gratefully, then frowned: a letter from his mother?

"How long have I been insensible?"

"It's been nigh on four days since the doctor removed the ball from your chest: before that, two days. You have likely forgot. He said you might, and that if you did, it was to be considered a blessing."

There was a very important piece still missing. "Where is Miss Skywalker?"

"She has only just left. They wanted her to speak to the constable regarding Hux, so she has gone, and ought to be back by dinner-time, but she has refused to leave your side otherwise." Rose brandished a wet cloth at him as if it were a sword, and he a lowly private, and she a Captain of Dragoons. "She gave me the strictest orders to not leave you alone a moment, and to be as devoted a nurse as I could be, and since I owe both her and yourself a great debt, then I must be inclined to obey."

"You owe us nothing, Miss Tico," said Solo wearily. "It was for the great friendship and love between you that she bore what she did and took such actions, and it was for the affection I bear her that I assisted, and for the friendship between our families."

"I had not known of your affection towards her until she told me of it," said Rose. "Believe me, sir, she was just as surprised by the revelation as I was to hear it."

"Yes, I know: that is my own fault, and not hers," he said quietly. "I pray you, do not remind me of it: she may think me decent now, but she does not care for me, and I shall not press the young lady further on the matter."

Rose looked very much as if she wanted to say more, but only lay the cold cloth on his hurt face with care. "Try to rest: it is only mid-morning."

"I have been resting for days, Miss Tico. You will kindly let me sit up and eat something."

"Oh, all right. Here, you may have the rest of our morning meal, and I shall call for some hot broth—"

His stomach made its opinion that such an offering would not be enough quite clear. "I do not want broth, Miss Tico: I am not invalid, or in a convalescent home for consumption! I have only been shot. I beg you to get me food, else I perish of starvation."

Rose's eyes crinkled with laughter, merry and brown. "Very well, sir: I shall steal you half a ham and some bread, and perhaps some pudding, from the kitchens. Shall that suffice?"

He had to smile, but only on the left side, and that weakly: the cut on his face burned like fire. "It shall, Miss Tico. Thank you kindly."

* * *

Rey threw her bonnet to the hat-stand and wriggled out of her coat. "Thank the Lord that's over," she told the butler, a Scot she could hardly understand who called himself Brian Baird, and who, according to Lord Tekka, was the eighth of that name, coming from a long line of Brian Bairds who had served his family for generations—well, she could barely understand a word, but she liked him all the same. "How's Mr. Solo getting along?" The house was perfectly lovely, truly: rough stone and good timber of a Northern country house, and she rather liked it more than Queen's Rise.

"Aye, mum," said Baird, smiling, "an' ef ye'd been 'ere, wha, ah counna 'ave sed ah'd sayn a be'er narse tha' wha' young Miss Taeeeco 'as dun, mum. Nevar we' th'r a moar kain narse th haow she's dun, no, mum: wha's maor, I haerd th' meeds sayin' tha th' laird was oop an' aboot, carryin' on aboot haow he wanted summat t' et above broth an' tea."

"Ah," said Rey, lost entirely, but understanding the excitement in the man's gestures and expression, "well, that's very good news, then: I shall go up at once and see him."

Rose, however, was outside the door, waiting, and met her when she reached the top of the landing. "He's been asleep since lunch-time," she said. "Ate himself an enormous dinner and fell right back into bed, snoring like Father Time."

"I am glad of that. How are his wounds?" Rey kissed her cheek.

"Same as ever. He complained of some itching on the face, but the maids all say that's good; means it is healing. You ought to go draw a bath: you look dreadfully tired. Was it so bad?"

"Not at all, it is only that being in the same room with Hux is a trial of itself, knowing what he attempted to do to you and to Paige—and what he _did_ do to Mr. Solo," she finished with some heat. "I suppose we shan't be troubled with him again: he is to be transported to debtor's prison in London."

Rose sighed. "He told me that my sister had haughtily rejected him, and so I felt obligated to soothe his hurt feelings! Oh, my mama is absolutely furious with both myself and my aunt: we have humbled ourselves in letters over and over, but I fear she shan't be satisfied. Mostly, she is angry I wasted my time over a good-for-nothing when I could have settled for any decent officer in the Army, but you know Mama."

"I do, and I am sorry," said Rey, patting her hand. "Well, I shall go and take my bath, then, and have dinner sent to my room."

* * *

The bath was delicious, the water just correct as she preferred it, as Rey sat down, bringing her knees to her chest and sighing as she poured it over her hair. It had been a good week since her last one, and that had been colored in her memory by—well, she would not think of that. This house boasted a fine bathing-room with a deep well tub on the first floor, connected to the house by a little hall, and the bath was kept hot by coals under the floor. Her nightgown and robe waited, along with Turkish towels, nothing like the rough linen she was used to. _I might stay here for ever and ever,_ she thought, closing her eyes in content.

Her solitude was interrupted by the door opening, and in alarm her eyes flew open to see—Lord!—Mr. Solo coming in, a towel draped over one broad shoulder. She let out a startled shriek of indignant fright, and he checked himself at once, his eye falling upon her. Thank God he was in shirtsleeves, at least: she sunk deep as she could and covered herself with her hair and arms.

"I beg your pardon," he said, backing away. "Miss Tico said nobody was in the bathing-room."

"Miss Tico indeed!" said Rey, consternation warring with amusement in her breast.

Solo seemed to be looking everywhere but at her. "And—and I only—I have not bathed since I was shot in the street: I beg your pardon, my presence is not appropriate. I will go."

"Wait, sir: if you go now, I shan't get to speak to you until the morning, and I wanted to inquire after your health." Rey splashed to the edge of the bath and peered over the lip at him. "Your face is healing, they tell me."

He backed away, as if he expected her to leap upon him. "It is. Thank you for your concern."

Suddenly she felt ashamed of teasing him so, and sank back into the water. "I am glad of it. You—you may wait outside, sir."

"Thank you," he said tersely, and left the room, shutting the door firmly behind him.

* * *

The staff from Queen's Rise arrived the next day: Mr. Dameron, Mr. Finn, and Tallie all descended from the carriage in a whirlwind and Mr. Smith ordered the valets to unpack trunks and settle everything and everyone in all proper places.

"Oh, Mr. Dameron!" said Rose, beaming. "How very nice to see you again."

"And you, m'lady: this is Finn, our master of horse, who came to make sure the poor beasts are treated as well as they can be." Dameron indicated the young man, who looked awed at being introduced to the young lady. "Master Finn, this is Miss Rose Tico."

"Miss," he said, bowing. "I'm honored. I believe it's your family that had those grey dappled mares?"

"Oh!" said Rose, beaming. "Yes, we do: Hammer and Cobalt. Are they not the loveliest things? We have got Cobalt in the breeding pen this spring, I think: she ought to make a lovely foal."

"She shall!" said Finn, looking delighted. "She ought to be—begging any impertinence, miss—bred with a stallion at least seventeen hands high, if you want a good strong mare or stallion off her."

"Yes!" Rose said. "I told Mama as much, but she said I oughtn't to fill my head with such dry matters and put it into the hands of our horse-master—and do you know, last I heard they _were_ mating her up with Red Storm, who's sixteen!"

"I never knew you to be so interested in horse-breeding, Miss Tico," said Solo from his place along the wall consulting with Lord Tekka on living quarters for the new staff. The linen was still wound about his face, giving him the appearance of being half-ghostly.

She blushed prettily. "I am not supposed to be, at least in front of gentlemen: Mama says it is a waste of time when I ought to be finding a husband. I expect I have released the secret now."

Solo's eye went from her to Finn without any expression whatsoever. "Master Finn, my mother has told me you would have liked to be in the army."

"That's true, sir," said Finn. "Only—I could not afford to become enlisted, and they would not have looked kindly on me, either, on account of my—my color, sir."

Solo nodded. "I see. I am sorry to hear it. Well, Rose shall entertain you with all manner of conversations on the topic of horses while you are here, as long as it does not interfere with your duties."

"Oh, I should enjoy it!" said Rose, looking pleased.

"Excellent," said Rey, tucking her arm into her friend's. "In the meantime we ought to go take tea, and leave the poor gentlemen to their work."

"Ah, before I forget," said Dameron, handing Rey an envelope, "Lady Solo strictly informed me that this was to be given into your hands at once."

"Thank you, sir: I shall read it at tea." Rey made a little bob and went to the morning-room with Rose.

* * *

The letter, upon it being opened and read, revealed as follows:

_Dear Miss Skywalker—_

_Lady Holdo has written and informed me of the goings-on at Gatalenta Park in the wake of your visit there, and the ruin left (caused, in part, by yourself not informing any one save the butler at Gatalenta where you were off to, and also by yourself making the journey to London alone with an unmarried man). Mrs. Namit was nearly frantic until she had discovered the heart of the matter, and was then so consumed by nerves and terror that she was nearly insensible for a week. Lady Holdo had her own share of being a close companion to Nerves, as Mr. Mitaka and Miss Eustacia together had to convince her that you had not eloped with my son. Suffice it to say that I am quite appalled at your flaunting of propriety… and relieved to high Heaven that you both succeeded in your efforts to thwart Mr. Hux in his plot, as if Mrs. Tico, who has written me no end of the politest of letters, lavishing praise upon my ward for her canniness and cleverness._

_I hear from Miss Rose that you have become a most devoted friend to my son: from whence this change of mood came, I confess myself most curious to know, as I thought you disliked him! Write back at once, my dear girl, once this letter is put into your hands: I shall give it to Dameron, who I trust wholeheartedly. I remain very sincerely your_

_Lady Solo._

Rey set it down and looked at Rose. "I have just read my letter," she said, "and for a reason I cannot imagine, there is a rumor I eloped with our Mr. Solo."

"Eloped! Goodness. Someone must be mixing my actions and yours," said Rose.

"Yes, perhaps." A thought occurred to Rey: perhaps that stuffy butler at Gatalenta Park had decided to tell his mistress that Miss Skywalker had demanded entrance to Solo's rooms while he was indisposed? Such an action certainly alone could result in speculation of unsavory sorts. Well, it did not matter. "Lady Solo requests a letter explaining my change of behavior toward Mr. Solo. I fear I shall not be up to the task."

"No fear!" said Rose brightly. "You told me already that he bore a secret affection for you, and so agreed to help you in the matter."

"It is more than that." Rey set her teacup down. "I believe I shall go and write the letter, to get it over with: goodness knows it won't wait."

* * *

_Lady Solo—_

_Your letter was very welcome to me, and I am eager to address the questions you have put forth. I shall begin from the start, in retelling the story of how my affections toward Mr. Solo have changed, and I pray you to be patient as you go, for it is a complex one. Firstly: I bore at first resentment toward the man, as I believed he did me, by reason of his manners and attitudes which he displayed in my presence. Evidently he did not bear me ill will, for upon the occasion of my visit to Gatalenta Park, he approached me and professed a very great affection towards me, which shocked me deeply, and provoked me to reject him immediately. Upon hearing that one of my main objections to him was my belief that he had separated Colonel Hux and Paige Tico, he wrote me a letter explaining his actions, and I understood then that Hux was a man of low morals and ill repute and that what Solo had done was done for the good of Paige and of the Tico family, and that my view of him had been entirely wrong._

_Once I had read it, I realized that Rose was in danger, having made a connection between Colonel Hux's actions, the letter, and the gentleman Rose had spoken of being her secret admirer in London—well, I went back at once to Mr. Solo, and informed him at once of my suspicions: therefore we set out together immediately and managed to put a stop to it all. I am very sorry that any one was alarmed, especially dearest Paige: I would have left a letter, but my purpose was so great that I could not wait to do so._

_You may assure Lady Holdo and her daughter that no eloping was involved save the eloping of Miss Rose, which came to no fruition. Mr. Solo is recovering very well from his gun-shot wound, and will likely bear a dreadful scar across his face from brow to cheek, but we may thank God that his eye-sight was not harmed, and the doctor has assured us that he shall be as capable as ever he was._

_I hope this letter reaches you quickly, so that you are not worrying overmuch on my account, or on Mr. Solo's. I remain ever your devoted_

_Miss Rey Skywalker_


	11. Chapter 11

After another fortnight, the whole party gathered up for the long, tiresome journey back to Queen's Rise. Rey thanked Lord Tekka very much for his hospitality, to which he said there had not been so many young faces in the house since the reign of George the Third, and he was pleased to have them any time.

Since they only had one carriage and one wagon, and Rey would not hear of Tallie being thrust out to ride on the board, the ladies kept each other company inside and the gentlemen out. Solo seemed to enjoy the time out-of-doors, conversing with Dameron and Finn and Mr. Ematt as if he was a valet, and not their superior at all. His bandages had come off, leaving behind (as feared) an unsightly red scar nearly bisecting his right cheek from brow to jaw, but it no longer gave him much pain, and neither did the ball-wound in his breast.

Rey had lost track of time in the course of the events, and now felt herself very much in the grip of particular difficulties not so different than Solo's had been on the way up: had it truly been nearly a month? She shifted in her seat on the soft velveteen: a tell-tale twinge of pain very deep within her belly made itself known, and she frowned. _Not now,_ she implored herself silently. They ought to make it back to Queen's Rise in less than a week: would her body hold off until then? She could not even consider the implications of subjecting Tallie and Rose to all of it in a closed coach for hours on end, even though Tallie was a lady's maid and therefore knowledgeable about these sorts of things, and Rose shared her affliction, but—good God!

"Tallie," she said, during a rest on the side of the road for a quick cold lunch, "I'm afraid I might need more smelling salts. Very soon."

"Oh, dear me," said Tallie, looking caught off her guard. "I do fear they've slipped my mind, miss. I could go look in the trunks when we've a moment."

"Please do, if you can," said Rey. Her skin was beginning to prickle as if it was too tight, and it was only the second day of travel. _Please, God,_ she prayed, although she had never truly been one for praying, _don't let it happen now._

* * *

She woke in her bed in the inn the next morning, covered in cold sweat and trembling between sopping wet sheets. Why did everything hurt so terribly? "Oh, God," she moaned, and Tallie's face swam above her, wearing an expression of anxiety.

"It's begun," said Rose, somewhere very far away. "We can't possibly take her down: the men—"

Men. _Men._ Rey suddenly knew what she had to do, where she had to go. _Solo,_ she wanted to cry, but could not get air past her dry throat. It would be all right, he would help her as she had him, and everything would be all right: they would—they would—

Tallie's voice came to her, as if from the bottom of a well. "Mr. Solo has taken a horse and gone ahead…"

Gone. _Gone_ , and left her alone: it could not be! Rey jerked from the bed and flung herself at the window, to Tallie's alarm, unlatching it and nearly leaning into the street with a cry.

"Mistress!" shrieked Tallie, and yanked her back in, nightgown flapping as Rey landed back on the bed. "God Almighty, you shriek like that and every man in rut for a mile around'll be pounding down the door to—"

"You needn't be crude," Rose began, scandalized, but Rey wailed again and rolled to her belly, gritting her teeth against the horrible openness of her body: she felt tender all over and flush with heat, like a new-plowed field in the summer air waiting for seed. "We have got to do something. We can't keep her here."

"I—I'll get Dameron," said Tallie, white-faced, and ran from the room, leaving Rose to cling to Rey's hand as she trembled in bed.

"We must get you dressed," she said kindly. "Come on, Rey. Up with you."

"I can't, I can't," Rey panted, shaking. "I couldn't even get a corset on if I tried, Rose, I can't, it hurts so much—where is Solo?"

Rose helped her sit up. "He's ridden ahead to the next village. Shall I get you a cold cloth to sit on?"

Rey tried to think as she steadied herself. "Yes—please—why did he go?"

The other girl spoke as she fetched the cloth for her friend and slipped it between her thighs for her without so much as a blink. "He did not wish to be a cause of scandal. I believe he knew, in some way, that you were—that you would possibly be put in a delicate situation, and left before dawn."

"He left me?" Rey asked, and her own voice sounded so pitiable and broken that the small part of her that still clung to reason shouted at her not to speak anymore, lest she say something that shamed her.

"He left us all, dear Rey: and good thing, too. Tallie says our Master Finn is a man of no particular constitution, but Dameron—

The door flew open, and into the room, like a messenger of Olympus, burst that very gentleman. "Oh, I see," he said, looking at the room with an air as if he knew precisely the manner of the issue at hand, and with a sympathetic note, and suddenly—Rey _knew_ : he was an O, like her, like Rose, and they had never known. "Miss Rey, can you stand?" he asked.

"No," she whimpered, ashamed. "Not even with the cloth under." Certainly this was a worse heat that ever before, worse than any she had had: why was Solo gone away? Why had he not remained? Her head swam.

Dameron snapped his fingers. "Right, then. Tallie, Miss Rose, you help her dress. I shall run back, tell Finn to ready the coach, and come back up to help." He was back out the door quick as a flash, and Rey was left doubling over in pain as Tallie and Rose got her up and to the mirror, where they laid wet cloths on her neck as Tallie laced her loosely into a pair of soft stays.

"I can't bear them, please, no," Rey begged, but it was no use: she must needs be dressed, and dressed she was, and suddenly Dameron was back again, and swept her up in his strong arms like a bundled carpet as he took her down the stairs. She caught glimpses of worried faces, the innkeeper's wife, and a great blur of daylight before Dameron gently set her in the carriage and stepped back as Rose and Tallie clambered in after her.

* * *

The rest of the day was a nightmarish blur of discomfort and feverish thoughts. Rey had to stop herself from crying out the window of the carriage at least twelve times, and Tallie tried to use the smelling salts to no avail: all was useless.

"We cannot stop with her in such a condition," said Dameron once, as they halted to water the horses. "Should I inquire at the next town about a—a respite-house, or a nunnery?"

"I suppose we must," said Rose, and the disappointment in her friend's voice was so great that Rey sat up, tears in her eyes.

"No, no, we cannot stop: we must go on, straight on, please, Dameron, we cannot delay, not on my account—"

Dameron shook his head. "You are very ill, Miss Rey: and what's more, Mr. Ematt says you smell so strongly that he's sure stopping in a town would be a grave error."

"There is a nunnery on the road," said Tallie quickly. "It is near York, and we are only a three hour's ride from there."

Rey silently fumed: she ought to be in bed with Solo, she _wanted_ to be abed with Solo. A nunnery? _Nunnery?_ It was not fair at all. She had lain with him in the most intimate fashion she could imagine when _he_ had been sick, and now that she was ill, he had abandoned her wholly to her heat, and ridden off: he must hate her, hate her entirely, and show her no affection after all. She could not imagine another three days of this: she would not, it was unbearable. "No nunnery," she managed, gasping.

Rose shook her head. "She is not in her right mind. We must go to York, and be quick about it."

Oh, how Rey wished to scream, to rage, to leap from the carriage and madly dash through the forest, shrieking for Mr. Solo: alas, it was not to be, and Tallie put the small neck of a bottle of laudanum to her lips, and after some time she knew nothing more.

* * *

The convent was called St. Agatha's, and a perfectly enormous Greek letter, Ω, was carved above the lintel, signifying the safe haven here for all who were born with such a designation. Overhead, the sky boded rain as Rey was carried in with her arms across Rose's and Dameron's shoulders, and stumbled, trembling, on the flagstone floor.

"Poor child," said the Mother Superior, looking at her with sympathy before turning to a Sister in a blue habit. "Sister Margaret, show Miss Skywalker to a room, and keep her well supplied with salts and laudanum."

"I don't want any more laudanum," Rey whispered, head lolling. Something smelt sweet and dark, somewhere nearby, and her senses were reeling. "I want…"

The Mother Superior smiled genially. "I know very well what you want, my dear: why, we sent away a gentleman suffering from a similar complaint, just yesterday, over to St. Francis'. It must be a season for life, indeed, as Solomon does say there is to every thing a season: a time for life and a time for…"

A gentleman. A gentleman? Rey inhaled again, and recognized the scent's echoes in the room as if the smell had been with her for her whole life: it was _him,_ he was—

She lost her head, broke, and ran for the door with frenzied speed. Not even the great Sister who answered the door could stop her, and she slipped the net, _free_ at last to answer the most perfidious call of Nature, while behind her Rose and Dameron cried out to stop. She could not hear them, for she was running free, stumbling off the road, into a field, through the trees as grass cut at her hands and branches tore at her traveling-gown: where was he? Where _was_ he? "Ben!" she screamed out, and her voice had changed, a note entering it of desperation. " _Ben!_ "

The smell, the smell. She was so close, and out here there were no people, no homes or buildings. Rey turned in a great frenzy, every which way, her hair coming down as she sniffed for him again and again. He was _here,_ her nose was telling her so, and her body was wet and open and ready: he _must_ come. Another wail tore itself from her mouth, a cry of frustration and dammed-up emotion, before a shout answered it—answered it!—from down in the woods, down a hill.

Rey did not even think for a moment that it might not be Solo. She tore down the hill, crying out his name again and again, until she fell and rolled, falling, into a mossy glen, and upon coming to a halt, sat up dizzily and saw—

It was Mr. Solo, wearing breeches, shirt, stock, and long coat without waistcoat or jacket—shocking!— and he was staring at her in utter amazement. "Miss Rey?" he asked, voice breaking.

She could not form a complete sentence, or thought, or anything resembling a reasonable communiqué. "You— _you_ , they, nunnery! You _left me_! I need—I need— _please_ —"

"God Almighty, is it that bad?" asked Solo, taking an unconscious step forward: that was when he caught her scent, and a low moan escaped his throat, freezing him in his step. "No. _No._ You ought not to have come, have found me—I was going away, I could not go further—"

"I need you," Rey cried, struggling to stand. Her legs would not give out, and everything in her shouted to kneel for him, to make herself available wholly, body and mind. She was already on hands and knees before she could stop herself, and great tears began to roll from her eyes. "It is not fair: you were sick, and I helped you, and now you will not do me the same courtesy: is that the behavior of a gentleman?"

"Miss Skywalker, please understand me, I cannot—we cannot—"

"You are a selfish brute!" she screamed, flinging a handful of dead bracken at him. "I have ruined myself upon you already! Are you afraid I might be ruined twice over?" She burst into tears, and rain began to drizzle down upon them both: rain she barely heeded.

He was deathly pale. "I have been sent news that change—changed—I—I am officially engaged—"

Rey was so far gone that she could not comprehend his meaning. "Please," she sobbed, crawling toward him. "Please. Doesn't it hurt you? Doesn't it _hurt?_ "

"Oh, God help me," Solo said, and caught her by the elbows, pressing her to his body. He was overly warm, and his hands shook as he clung to her. "God help us both." Rey fell into his arms, and clung to him as he lifted her up bodily in a bridal-carry, and began to walk.

"No," she panted, trembling. "No, no, I need—"

His voice, when it came, was black and hard and thin as ice. "I know what you need, madam. It is not me, but rather rest and time alone."

Rey desperately wanted to strike him, but could not do anything other than cling to him as he surmounted the rise and strode across the uneven ground of the wood as the rain thickened, drenching them both. "How dare you think you know what I need," she gasped, burying her face in the wet collar of his coat. "You presumptuous, awful—"

"As far as I know, the symptoms of a lady's indisposition do not extend to incessant insults: you may hold your tongue," he said shortly.

She kicked him hard, outraged. "Let me go at once!" Her fevered mind played through a deeply carnal scene: one where she escaped him and he, overcome by rut, chased her down in the rain, tore her clothes from her, and—

"I think not, Miss Rey," he said very tightly, and she closed her eyes, mortified: she must have been speaking aloud. "I have never been kicked by a lady before: I do not wish to repeat the experience."

"Oh, hang you," she gasped, and struck him in the chest as hard as she could.

His speed, even in the midst of his own illness, was remarkable: with a swift motion Solo had set her back down and grasped her roughly by the shoulders at arm's length. "Now, see here," he said roughly, and she saw, even through the haze of fever and heat, how drawn and strained he looked, how black his eyes had become. The scar on his face, still raw-looking, gave him the appearance of some highwayman, or brigand. "I will not outrage you when you are out of your senses with heat, madam, and myself nearly as badly affected: I will _not_ take liberties with you in this way. You will control yourself as well as you are able, or I shall carry you bound over my shoulder.” He pulled her close, so close that she could feel the hardness of him straining against her belly, through the front falls, through her dress, through every layer they both wore. “Is that what you want?"

Rey regained enough propriety to say, "I believe—it might be better for us both, if you carried me so, and I—I am sorry."

"Very well." Solo took his cravat off, exposing the pale skin of his throat, and tore the fine cambric into two strips. He tied her wrists, and then knelt, tying the other about her ankles beneath the petticoat. His head in the vicinity of her belly did something truly terrible to her insides, and she bit back a whimper as fresh slick dripped down the inside of her thighs.

Solo scented it at once. His eyes, gone black, darted up to meet hers and then shut, rolling back, as he unconsciously leaned forward, pressing his face to her skirt. A soft groan, muffled by the sopping clothing, left his lips, and for one shining moment all was warm and right and she thought…she thought…

The pressure lifted, the warmth gone, the moment over. "Forgive me," he said, in an unsteady voice, and stood, lifting her by the hips and putting her over his shoulder, and Rey lost what remained of her senses.

* * *

They were approaching the great stone walls of St. Agatha's when Mr. Finn and Rose came flying out to meet them, both looking horrified at the sight that met their eyes: Mr. Solo, decidedly not in correct dress, carrying Rey bound like a prize over one broad shoulder.

"Now, see here, sir!" shouted Finn indignantly as Solo came up to the door. "If you have found this lady in the wood and disgraced her, I shall say something about it to Lady Solo! You're a right disgrace to your family, and your name, if I say so myself: your mother will tan your hide, see if she doesn't."

"On all those points, Finn, you are very correct," Solo said wearily. "However, I have not touched the lady at all."

Dameron emerged from the door, followed by a scandalized Mother Superior. "You reek of your own designation's troubles, sir," he said, nose flaring wide. "If you truly did not touch her, I am astonished."

"Indeed, sir: it was good of you to find her, but I think for your own safety and for all of the women here you ought to return to St. Francis' as soon as possible," said the Mother Superior.

"I do possess a modicum of control over myself, Dameron, having been taught the art since I was twelve," said Solo dryly. He set Rey down with great care on the grass. "You may have any Sister examine the lady if she agrees to it: she is unmolested and unhurt, though very weak from lack of food."

"Thank you, sir," said Rose with all sincerity, and he nodded at her in recognition. She was keeping a safe distance away, her handkerchief, no doubt awash in smelling salts, pressed discreetly under her nose. "Finn, you ought to apologize: he has done right by all of us here, and especially Miss Rey."

"There is no need for him to do so: he was right to suspect me. You may, however, strike me a blow, Master Finn, if it makes you feel as if you are protecting Miss Skywalker's honor," said Solo dryly. "I shall not hold it against you: I would do the same thing to any man in my position."

"Put your right foot forward, then," said Finn, eyeing up the other man.

"Finn, no—" began Rose, shocked.

Solo did so, and Finn struck him such a blow that he staggered from the power behind it. "Well," he said, when he could speak, "are you satisfied, sir?"

Finn held his head very high. "I am, sir; thank you."

Solo rubbed his jaw. "Excellent. Well. Miss Tico, I shall leave Miss Rey in your capable hands, and let us pray for any wrongdoer that encounters Master Finn on your journey home."

"What shall I tell Rey when she wakes?" asked Rose as the Sisters lifted Rey and carried her in.

Solo hesitated briefly. "Tell her not to bother about the cravat: I have more. And tell her that—that going forward, I hope to remain friends."

"I shall tell her, sir. Good day."

"Good day," he said, and gave the shadow beneath the door one last look before turning and walking away, stumbling slightly as he went.

* * *

Over the next three days, Rey recovered slowly, as her heat abated and brought back reasonable thought and an appetite so sharp that Sister Margaret was sent running back and forth for cold ham and cakes every three hours. As she was allowed to take the airs with Rose, Rey caught Rose looking shyly once or twice at Finn, and as they packed the carriage to go home once more, she prodded her in the arm. "I think you may harbor some affections toward our fine master of horse," she teased, and Rose blushed.

"Oh, no: Mama would have a fit of the utmost severity if I wedded a horse-man. It simply cannot be, Rey," she said, but she looked anyway, and Rey smiled to herself as they thanked the Sisters and the carriage trundled along home.


	12. Chapter 12

The pounding on the door of Queen's Rise echoed through the house, and Rey started directly out of a sound sleep in bed. "Is that the door, Tallie?" she called loudly, and her maid came in from the sitting-room with a candle, looking sleep-mussed and bewildered in her nightcap.

"It's someone, to be sure: they must be about to knock it down!"

"Oh, Lord,” said Rey, throwing off the coverlet. “Get Dameron, just in case: and wake Lady Solo, and get the valets, too. What on earth: it is eleven o'clock!"

She threw a robe on over her nightgown and ran for the stair, followed by a horde of sleepy, curious staff, until she made it to the foyer, and Dameron was pulling the door open in indignation. "Here now, it's the middle of the night," he began indignantly, but shrank back when he saw who was at the door, allowing the person entrance—and what an entrance she gave!

A lavender silken evening-dress swept in, followed by a silver brocade coat and glittering amethysts: Lady Holdo had come to Queen's Rise, in all her glory. "Away with you!" she commanded Dameron imperiously.

"Good Lord, Amilyn, did you drive here from dinner?" asked Lady Solo with some amazement, coming down the stair in her bed-things and a robe. "A cup of tea, perhaps?"

"Absolutely not," said Lady Holdo. "I will speak to Miss Skywalker immediately and alone; it is a matter of utmost importance."

Rey stared at her and then at Lady Solo in utter bewilderment. "To _me_?" she asked. "Whatever—"

Lady Solo held up a hand. "Miss Rey, take Lady Holdo to the drawing-room at once, if she must needs speak to you. I shall wait."

Uncomfortable and confused, Rey led the lady to the drawing room, lighting a lamp as she went, for it was so dark that the room seemed nothing at all. She turned, setting the lamp upon the table, and looked at Lady Holdo, whose face seemed to change and shift in the lamplight and shadow like a specter. "You cannot be at a loss as to why I am here, Miss Skywalker," she said. "You must know the reason for it."

"I must confess myself wholly ignorant of the reason for such a visit, Lady Holdo," said Rey.

"Ignorant! Ignorant!" Lady Holdo's eyes flashed in the light. "I warn you, do not trifle with me, Miss Skywalker. Do you mean to tell me that you are not engaged to Mr. Solo: that you do not wish to wed him? For that is the rumor that has reached me, and at my dinner, too, and of course I knew it to be nothing but a scurrilous falsehood intended to destroy all I have planned, but as I did not wish to insult him by allowing myself to believe it possible, I set off at once to make my sentiments on the matter known."

Rey's mouth had been hanging open in shock, but now it shut with a snap. "You thought it impossible, Lady Holdo, and yet you traveled all the way here without changing from dinner to see for yourself! ah, I wonder at that indeed!"

"You dare to say it is false?" asked Lady Holdo, the feathers in her hair trembling with indignation. "You dare to say you are wholly ignorant of it?"

"I have never heard such a rumor in my life," said Rey hotly.

"And can you declare on your soul to me now that there is no foundation for it?"

"I will not be as frank as your ladyship," said Rey mulishly. "You may ask all the questions you choose, and I shall choose not to answer them as I please."

Lady Holdo paced back and forth. "I shall not be spoken to like this. Has Mr. Solo made you an offer of marriage?"

"Did you yourself not just declare such a thing to be impossible?" asked Rey.

"I _shall_ be understood," snapped Lady Holdo, turning on her. "Mr. Solo is engaged to Eustacia, my daughter, and has been for weeks; what have you to say to that?"

"I am very glad to hear it," said Rey, "for if that is the case then you cannot imagine he would make an offer to me."

"Oh, you impudent child!" gasped Holdo, looking deathly pale. "Lady Solo and I have planned this union for years. Do you truly think it could be prevented by a young woman of hardly any social standing, of low birth, whose fortune came only at the whim of an old recluse who took a fancy to a poor wretch? Heaven above, shall the Rise and the Park all come to ruin? Now tell me, once and for all, plainly: are you engaged to him?"

Rey's throat went very tight. "I am not," she said.

"And will you promise never to enter into such an engagement?" demanded Lady Holdo.

"I will make no such promise, now, tomorrow, or evermore," said Rey, her temper swelling after being stung so. "And I shall say this plainly, since you so requested it: you have insulted me in every possible way, and for that reason alone, should Mr. Solo approach me the very next moment, I should accept him, if only to save him from such an overbearing mother-in-law. You can have nothing further to say to me, and I must ask you to leave." She strode to the door without waiting for Lady Holdo to answer, and flung it wide to see Lady Solo in the corridor, looking aghast, surrounded by the staff. "Good night, Lady Holdo," said Rey, and pointed to the door.

Lady Holdo gaped at her. "I have never been thus treated in my _life_ ," she exclaimed, and stormed from the room. Lady Solo reached forth and caught at her hand.

"Amilyn! Whatever—"

"I shall send _you_ a letter in the morning," said Holdo frostily, and swept out into the night, leaving twenty astonished faces all turned upon Rey.

"What on earth—" began Lady Solo, but Rey shook her head.

"Oh, leave me alone," she said, and fled back up the stairs to her room, slamming the door shut.

* * *

Lady Solo came up some time later, as dawn was breaking across the sky outside. Rey had not slept at all: she sat in the window of her sitting room in her nightgown still, her knees to her chest, looking at the garden. "You must know," said the lady, sitting in the armchair, "that your being thrust into our social stratum, my dear, was an uproar—a chaotic incident—akin to the Ten Plagues."

"I am aware," said Rey tiredly.

"And I should not have had it any other way," said Lady Solo. "Tell me. Does my son still fear that I will grow to hate him for the truth of his father's death?"

Rey turned from the window, shocked. "What?"

"Ah, he does. I see. No, no, do not look so startled, my dear. I have known for a year or more."

That was some small comfort. "And you—you do not hate him for it?"

Lady Solo sighed. "Not anymore, child. My life shall not be long enough from here to the end of it to hold any resentment toward my son: it was an accident, and he regrets it bitterly: I know that."

"How did you know I knew of it?" Rey asked.

"He told me so when he returned to Queen's Rise, before the rest of the party came last week: he had a change of heart and came entirely clean with me about all manner of things." Her sharp eyes lit upon Rey a moment, and Rey felt as if she was being judged before the almighty seat of God himself. "All manner of things, Miss Skywalker."

"I never knew he paid my debt to Plutt," Rey confessed, unable to look the lady in the eye. "He never told me."

Lady Solo seemed to hide a smile. "No, my son takes great pleasure in never having attentions drawn to himself."

Rey sighed. "Who told Lady Holdo of such an engagement when there was none? I have not distributed any such thing."

Lady Solo looked down at her lap. "Who knows how such things are created and spread, child? It does not matter. What does matter is that I have received a furious letter from Amilyn sent by courier, and I intend to answer it in as much of a placating fashion as I can: although let me be quite clear and plain for once, Miss Skywalker—I should rather see you wed my son than Eustacia, who is ill-suited to him. I do not mean any insult to the girl, for I like her well enough, but I mean only that her passions and her person are at such odds to his, that they would not be happy."

"Me!" Rey was appalled. "Me, wed to Mr. Solo; surely you cannot mean that! Why, Lady Holdo told me that you had planned the match between your children for years, and in any case, Miss Eustacia likely brings more—" Her face reddened: how could she be so vulgar as to speak about money to Lady Solo?

But the lady only smiled. "No," she said, "you are quite right. But here is the heart of the matter: Lady Holdo and I had planned the match when they were small, and when my son came of age, he refused to wed Eustacia. So I arranged other meetings with other young women: he refused to wed them." A tear fell from the lady's eye, and she hurriedly blotted it away. "All I wanted was to see the Rise restored to the glory it possessed when my brother and I ran the halls as small children: all I wished in the world was that my son would take back the title my father had lost, and it all seemed quite hopeless: then after he proposed to you at Gatalenta Park and you declined him something had changed in my son's heart, and he told me in a letter he would wed Eustacia, as I had asked, but there was no joy in it, nor would there be."

"When was this letter written?" Rey asked, half-reeling in astonishment.

"Several days after the letter he wrote you, but before you encountered Mr. Hux in the streets of Gretna Green," said Lady Solo. "He would not tell me what had changed between you two: it must have been dreadful."

Tears filled Rey's eyes: so he had _not_ told his mother all, and it was to remain a secret between the two of them for ever. "He is very kind not to tell, Lady Solo," she managed, wiping at her face with her handkerchief.

Lady Solo looked intrigued. "Did you quarrel, perhaps, on the journey? I cannot understand what must have taken place. He would only write that he was sure you would not accept him any longer, as he had proved himself to be wholly unworthy of your affections, if indeed they had ever existed at all."

"Oh, the bloody man," gasped Rey, standing up quickly and pacing about the room. "Forgive my language, Lady Solo: but—oh, _oh,_ how ridiculous of him, when we agreed we must—act as though nothing had happened, and then, and then to do _this!_ Such a thing!"

"Why, what happened?" asked Lady Solo, confused.

Tallie came and curtseyed. "Begging your pardon for the interruption, miss: Master Finn wishes to speak to you."

"Does he indeed! Well, send him in—no, wait: Miss Skywalker is not dressed—"

"I shall go put on a dressing-gown, it does not matter," said Rey, and shrugged one on as Finn was shown into the sitting-room.

"Madam," he said, bowing to both the ladies and smiling from ear to ear. "I must, with great delight, tender my resignation."

"Delight! Delight, is it?" asked Lady Solo, eyes twinkling. “Are you so glad, then? is being in my employ such a burden?”

Finn checked himself. "Oh! No! Begging your pardons, ma'am, no—with delight only, that is to say, as the alternative to my employment is a grand prospect indeed. I have gotten a commission into the Army, and am to be a Lieutenant as soon as I can report for duty."

"Why, that's astonishing news!" cried Rey, her indifference all forgotten as she raced to him and clasped his hands in hers. "An officer! You shall be the very finest lieutenant that ever was, and you ought to come to every party we have in your regimental uniform. Won't the ladies be impressed?"

He blushed dark. "There is only one lady I wish to impress, Miss Rey, and she must hear the news second—and then, of course, I must speak to her parents."

Rey beamed. "Rose, you mean," she said, pretending to wink at him. "Yes, of course, you must go straightaway, and tell her if she wants a decent dress-maker for her trousseau, that there is no better one to be found than our own Mr. Padgett-Oberly."

"I shall tell her, of course. Do I have your leave to go, Lady Solo?" He looked nervous, and twisted his hat in his hands as he looked at Lady Solo.

She smiled kindly. "Of course you do. You are entitled to a month's wages upon your departure: go and badger the butler. Tallie, see to it that Master Finn is given an extra three pounds on top of it, to compensate for the travelling expenses to Otomok Abbey."

"Yes, ma'am," said Tallie, and curtseyed, leaving with Finn in tow.

"How on earth did he get a commission?" Rey wondered aloud, still smiling.

"I believe he has been saving for quite a long time. You needn't fuss about it, dear: all will be well for our dear friends the Ticos and for Master Finn, as well—gracious, I shall have to get used to calling him Lieutenant, and won't that be a bother, specially at my age. One never likes learning new things once one is past sixty: it is far too much of a strain on the senses."


	13. Chapter 13

The spring passed on two weeks to early summer, and Rose called at the Rise one fine April morning, outfitted in sensible clothing that befitted a young wife, in all the rich, deep colors that she had not been able to wear as a young maid: green and brown and dark blue, as sober and serene as the earth. "Rey! Rey!" she called, climbing down out of the carriage as her husband assisted her. "Oh, how I am glad to see you!"

"And I you," said Rey, happily embracing her friend. "Oh, I see being married suits you well: you are glowing as if you were the sun!"

"That is all Finn's fault: he says bonnets are a nuisance and a hindrance to kissing, which husbands must do often, and so I shall be very brown by autumn," said Rose, flushed and giddy. "Oh, do tell me how Lady Solo is doing! I wrote to Paige to tell her I was wed, and she was amazed, but then, I am twenty-one in a few weeks, and one can never be married too early."

"I should beg to differ on that particular point, but you are very happy, so I shall be too, for your sake," said Rey, tucking her arm into Rose's. "Dear Finn, you needn't bother with the horses: we have Dameron for that!" Finn dropped the traces, looking rather guilty as Dameron came up, smiling, and took them.

"He is still getting used to the idea of being a person whom other persons wait upon," Rose whispered. "I find it very endearing, but he is often embarrassed—he's rather like you, when I first met you."

"I do remember," said Rey. "We shall guide him as best we can. It is not easy, navigating such strange waters."

"The Army is more my style," said Finn, taking Rose's other arm. "I know precisely what I'm to do at all times: it is very simple, and I never need to remember which fork is for fish and which is for the salad."

Rose laughed as she took off her hat and handed it to the butler. "And so you hope Lady Solo has prepared something very simple for lunch."

"As long as she has prepared anything at all for lunch, for I am famished, and would not care if I was expected to eat with my hands," he said, and kissed his wife on the cheek as he took his hat off.

Rey felt oddly envious as she watched the two: how very suited for each other they were, despite all differences in class and status! They moved intimately in each other's space, like two stars in some dance Rey could not discern the steps to, and as Finn took Rose's arm to lead her into the dining room, Rey felt a stab of longing at how she looked up into his face, smiling in perfect contentment.

As her thoughts often did when influenced by matters of the heart, they went to Mr. Solo: he had not been to visit yet, likely wishing to keep away after Rey's dreadful behavior at St. Agatha's in York, and Lady Solo had gotten a letter concerning wedding-plans from Lady Holdo, saying that the wedding must be held at the village church at Gatalenta Park soon, as soon as could be done. Evidently the lady was eager to see Solo pinned down, like a fly in a trap: whether the fly had any opinion on the matter remained to be seen.

* * *

Luncheon was a lively affair, Rose drinking plenty of good port with her meat and showing Rey the ring that Finn had got her. "I do wish you could have been at the wedding," she said, wistfully. "It was ever so small, and I had on my best yellow dress, but it was at the register-office, and not at church at home, as it ought to have been: Mama wants to have a breakfast still, but I said we would have to look at the accounts first. I think she is very shocked that I have a head for numbers: our governess told us the female constitutions can be hampered by such knowledge, so we were never taught it, but Finn is an excellent tutor."

"That's very good," said Rey, surprised and pleased. "I am hardly decent with sums at all. I can do the basics, but anything more complex than multiplication confounds me."

"That is hardly your fault," said Rose. "And do not be so severe upon yourself, anyway: you are an avid reader, and that's more than most young ladies can say. Have you given a second thought to marriage?"

"Since I no longer am acquainted with any fine young bachelors, I must give that answer as no," said Rey, smiling.

"Yes, I had heard Mr. Solo was engaged: he told us himself, although he looked utterly miserable to be saying so—although, perhaps that was just his face." Rose took another sip of port.

Rey frowned. "Told you himself? When?"

"Oh, at the wedding: why, he was Finn's best man, and—" Rose stopped short, aghast. "Oh! I have—I was not supposed to say a word, specially not to you, and now I have gone and let it out, haven't I?"

"What? Breathe a word of what?" Rey's hands were trembling; she did not know why, and she fought to urge to sit upon them.

"Oh—oh, I see you shall never let it go, so I shall tell you." Rose leaned in, so as to whisper. "Mr. Solo paid for the wedding, and for Finn's commission: Finn does not even know, I mean about the commission, of course he knows he paid for the wedding—and Solo swore me to _utter_ secrecy on the matter, saying that it was the least he could do to ensure both Tico girls had decent men as husbands and that our mother would not go destitute when the property is entailed."

" _What!_ " gasped Rey, so sharply that Lady Solo looked up in concern. She affected a coughing fit, and once the lady had gone back to conversation with Finn she kicked Rose under the table. "You mean to say _he_ paid for it all?"

"Yes, and we saw him yesterday when we called at Gatalenta Park to see Paige. He looked ever so poorly, and I told him what you had written to me about, how Lady Holdo had burst into the house demanding to know if you were engaged to him, and what you said about accepting him, even if it was only to save him from Lady Holdo, and—why, Rey, what is the matter? You've gone quite white."

"And _what_?" asked Rey, trembling still.

Rose shook her head. "Well, his entire face changed, you see, and—well, he said, 'Of course she would say such a thing: the little spitfire. I am shocked Lady Holdo's hair did not return singed at the ends,' and we laughed. Then he started to say something else, and Lady Holdo said very sharply from the other side of the room that if he was about to say something regarding 'that upjumped washerwoman' that he had better hold his tongue, and I believe they kept him occupied all the rest of the day, and we left this morning—he was still there, and there was something strange about his behavior."

"Strange? How?"

"I do not know. Suffice it to say that he looked resolved, but to do what, I could not tell you."

"Oh, God," said Rey, sinking into her seat. She felt as if her belly was turning great Catherine-wheels, excitement and horror mingled settling somewhere deep inside. "I must—I must go for a walk, I think. I must clear my head."

"Shall I come with you?"

"No, darling Rose: you stay right here with your husband. I must go all by myself."

* * *

Afternoon sank into evening, and Rey wandered in the dusk. The great gardens were all in bloom, and the insects sang in the trees, the rosy evening light stretching long fingers through the fields and the woods.

She did not think of much at all: she only walked and walked, along the hedgerows, along the paths. Dust motes caught the sunset light, turning all to golden flakes, and she breathed deeply. How many more riches could be found in Nature, in the world of green and growing things, than in the grand old stuffy houses of fathers and grandfathers long dead? The leaves on every tree were emeralds: the sunshine gold, the bubbling brooks silver, the light on the wheat-fields bronze. Rey plucked a blade of grass, twining it about her finger: here was a ring made from a single solid emerald, not even the King had such riches.

"And yet," she said, "I am alone." But perhaps being alone was no bad thing: one had time to think and consider, to walk and be private with oneself, to look inward instead of outward. Rey walked further into the field and let her hand brush the nodding heads of the flowering hemlock and Queen Anne's lace, enjoying the soft touch she found there, and the warm air of early summer on her face. Resolved! Resolved, Rose said he was! Yes, Solo was resolved, to do what she did not know, nor was it her business. She must rid herself of the feelings she bore towards him: prejudiced or no, she must forget them all, and be sensible, and only seek to be a friend, as he had told Rose before leaving in York: friends hereafter, but nothing more.

"I cannot forget," she whispered, walking round the field. No, she would not forget Solo, not if she wed another man, not if he wed another woman, not if the whole of Creation topped down on their heads, not if she lived to be a hundred. He was a singular man, and one who had had a great effect on her; that much was undeniable, whether the effect be for good nor no, who could say? To be alone… and Rey suddenly knew within herself that to be alone was not always to be _lonely,_ and oh, oh: how her heart ached for companionship! For she knew undeniably two enormous truths: one, that she was interminably linked with Solo, emotionally and socially—she was never, in fact, to be rid of him, and it seemed a cruel trick of an unjust world indeed—the second truth was that—was that—

Rey stopped in her tracks at once. A figure was coming across the golden field.

She was near on a mile from the house, and suddenly felt very small and frightened as the figure strode nearer. It was undeniably Solo: she knew his walk, his gait, his mannerisms better than any other, and as he drew close enough to see her face, she could see his: he was dressed for dinner and wore a peculiar expression, and as the wind changed, she was surrounded with the rich, dark, sweet smell of him.

"Miss Rey," he said, halting several feet away.

"Mr. Solo," she returned. "Whatever are you doing out here?"

"I arrived at the house with the sole purpose of calling upon you. They told me you had gone out for a walk at lunch-time, and not returned. I took it upon myself to—to fetch you back, should that be your wish." His dark eyes flickered over her in an expression she had once thought disdainful, but now could see plainly that it was only gentle reverence, and at once Rey lowered her eyes, ashamed of how she had behaved the last time they had met. He looked very poorly indeed, as if he had not slept well in some time.

"Perhaps—in a moment," she said. "Sir, I must—I must thank you for your generosity towards myself, and towards Rose. I did not bring up the matter of the debt to Plutt before, when Miss Tico's matter was more urgent, but I never knew you had paid the debt, and I never thanked you properly for it. And as for Miss Rose, you paid Finn's commission and did them both a great service. I also suspect you may have had a hand in Miss Paige's marriage to Mr. Namit, since I know you call often at Gatalenta Park."

Solo looked stricken at her words, one large hand tightening in reflex. "I am alarmed indeed that you are so canny: I meant to keep all that silent. You—you must know, Miss Rey: the debt to Plutt—that was solely for your happiness."

"And—and for—" Rey's cheeks had turned scarlet, but it must be said: "For not allowing any indiscretions to take place at York, when I was senseless with fever, and you yourself possessing a stronger will than I, still managed to—to do the correct and proper thing, as befitting a gentleman," she said.

Solo's face turned very red, as red as her own. "I assure you, madam, your will is composed of iron and steel, and mine in comparison hardly anything but wattle and daub. Had I hesitated a moment longer, I believe mine would have crumbled all to dust."

She tried to smile. "Let us thank Heaven it did not, since you are engaged to a proper lady now, and the scandal would rock Gatalenta Park to its foundations."

"On the matter of that—" said Solo, and her cheeks suddenly felt very cold. "On that matter—I know you are too straightforward to toy with my emotions, or to torment me. I know you spoke with Lady Holdo a fortnight back, and I have not been able to get away these last weeks, but I did not find it out until I spoke to Miss Rose, and what she relayed to me—it brought me hope, Miss Rey, hope as I have scarcely allowed myself to possess. If your feelings are still what they were in the spring, tell me so at once. My own—my own feelings— affections and desires—have not changed, but a single word, madam, one word only from you, and I shall be silent on the matter forever."

Rey stood there, knees trembling, not knowing what to say at all. Solo's eyes were bright, the scar on his face wholly healed into an ugly groove of thick flesh, but he had never looked more handsome to her eyes, never in all her life: his face soft and open, waiting, gentle, fearful of her answer. She tried to speak, but could not.

"If—if your feelings have changed," he prompted, seemingly spurred on by her hesitation, looking at her so intently that she felt nearly naked under his gaze, "then I should have to tell you, Miss Rey, that you—you have utterly destroyed me. Body and soul, you have captivated me entirely, and I—" His face twitched, as if some great emotion was threatening to break out under the surface. "I love—I love, I love you, and I never wish to be parted from you from this day until my last."

Rey drew a deep, shaking breath, tears in her eyes, and staggered a little. Solo reached out to steady her, and she clung to his hand. "I am—very happy to inform you, sir, that not only have my sentiments toward you wholly changed, but that nothing would give me greater pleasure in this world than to accept you."

Solo looked at her as if he could not believe his own ears, and his lips parted, trembling, as if he would speak, but no words came, only tears that rolled down his cheeks. Rey's own vision blurred with tears, and his hand came up with such slow gentleness to cup her cheek that she blinked them away and looked up at him: there it was between the two, all out in the open at last. "As I am?" he whispered, voice gone hoarse with the strain of emotion. "Truly, Miss Skywalker?"

"As you are, and not a whit less, Mr. Solo." Rey took his other hand in hers and seized it: his hand was so large that both of hers could not cover it.

"You are cold," he said softly, his large fingers caressing her small ones, and brought up her fingers to his mouth, breathing softly on them while looking at her directly. She trembled, and he kissed her hands, first the one and then the other, all over, until she was warm from head to toe; Rey drew closer, and shut her eyes, clinging to his hand, until his face bent down—down, further, until his brow was pressed to hers, and they stood there together in the sunset light.

* * *

The house was alight with lamps when Mr. Solo and Rey returned to the Rise, and as they came up to the door, hand in hand, Lady Solo's formidable person opened the door herself.

"Benjamin!" she said, shocked. "Why, you are still here, and not—" Then her eye fell upon Rey's hand, clasped firmly in his, and she looked back up at her son. "I see," she said, in a very different tone.

"Mother," he said, and kissed her cheek. "I am happy to inform you that Miss Skywalker has accepted my offer of marriage. I should like to return to the Park and inform Lady Holdo in person at once, and make my apologies to Miss Eustacia."

"I shall go with you, then" said Lady Solo firmly. "Rey needn't subject herself to undeserved ire: that shall be our duty and ours alone."

"Indeed. We ought to go at once: will you tell Dameron to make the coach ready?"

Dameron, however, was already running pell-mell to the stables, nearly off his head with excitement. "They've gone and done it!" he was heard to shout to the stable-hands and the footmen. "They've done it, and you all owe me three shillings each, for it was done before Whitsuntide!"

* * *

Rey did not sleep all night. She waited by the front windows, her knees to her chest, still in her day-dress. To be married: to be married to Mr. Solo, no less! The thought was beyond comprehension utterly. Rose and Finn were likely sleeping, for they were set to depart for Newcastle the next morning, where Finn would join his regiment, and Rey thought how pleasant it must be to be abed with one's husband, in warm soft blankets. She wrapped her coat tighter and set her chin on her knees, waiting.

 _Oh, how I wish Papa Luke was here_. She could nearly imagine his old face, breaking into shock as she told him the news, and his voice saying "but I thought you _loathed_ him utterly, my dear girl" and then she would say, _no, Papa Luke, I was mistaken about his character, and on so many other things: he is good and kind and gentle._

A tear fell from her eye, and she wiped it quickly. Wherever Luke was, she felt sure he would have approved in the end. Alone in the great house of Queen's Rise, she fancied she could feel the ghosts of the past, all looking down at her with great expectations. _Who are you? What will you become?_ they seemed to ask, drifting above and behind her. Rey thought if she looked over her shoulder, perhaps she might see the proud Duke, stalking from room to room, or the beautiful Marquise in her fantastical gowns, standing in the doorway behind her, watching only and saying nothing. The feeling became so strong that the hair stood up on the back of Rey's neck, and she turned, expecting to see someone standing there—but there was no one, only the dark, yawning mouth of the arch that led into the foyer.

"Hello? Is someone there?" she asked, very quiet and soft.

The candle at her side, which had been burning with bright, still flame, suddenly jumped and sputtered, as if moved by wind—but there was no wind that Rey could feel, and she stepped back, startled. She had never put much stock in ghosts at all, but in this house, it seemed anything was possible. "Get you gone," Rey said, a bit too loudly. "I am only myself, plain and simple, and can be no less or more: leave me in peace."

The candle flame flickered and slowly calmed, rising straight and high again, and Rey sat back down, but kept her back to the wall until the carriage came rattling back up the avenue and she stirred from her place to greet Lady Solo and her son.

* * *

Mr. Benjamin Solo wed Miss Rey Skywalker in the village church the very next Sunday, not even waiting for the banns to be read, which was very unusual, but nobody dared to say a word about it. Lady Holdo refused to attend, but Miss Holdo made a point out of coming, and sat right next to Lady Solo, having no qualms whatsoever about the entire affair, and indeed seeming very cheerful for someone who was attending the wedding of a gentleman who had rejected her.

"I am surprised to see Eustacia in attendance," said Rey to Mr. Solo as they got into their open carriage, surrounded by cheerful villagers and farmers, all waving at them and shouting hurrahs.

"Oh, do not be," said Mr. Solo, smiling as he sat. "She is as pleased as I am that the match was not made."

"Pleased! Did you court her so ungraciously, then?"

Solo laughed, and the sound was so strange that Rey found herself smiling in answer. "Not at all, madam. In fact, I believe she is of a constitution that is wholly incompatible with my own."

"What!" Rey was astonished. "You mean to say she is an—a—"

"An A indeed, madam, and what's more, she holds no affection for gentlemen past that affection one might hold for a brother. Her true warmth is directed towards ladies, for the most part."

"You must be joking," said Rey, shocked.

"I assure you I am not." Solo waved at the crowd as the coach got started, the horses tripping merrily down the cobblestones. "In fact, the only gentleman she has ever held any particular affection for is our good friend Dameron, and she expressed to me on several occasions her great admiration for Paige Tico and for yourself."

"Good God," Rey laughed, "is that how you and your mother managed to work it out in the end?"

"Well, Eustacia held no hard feelings on the matter, and Lady Holdo gave in at last, seeing that her daughter would not be happy with me and was content with the proceedings. I expect she shall find some other solution to the matter of her daughter's marriage." Solo took her hand, almost shyly. "As for myself, I find I am perfectly happy."

"Indeed! As am I," said Rey, feeling rather tongue-tied and slow, and they spent the rest of the journey back to Queen's Rise waving at the people in the village who had all come out to see their future Lord wed at last.

* * *

Rey could not eat a speck during the wedding breakfast for nerves, and Solo seemed to suffer the same complaint: he picked at his food and stole sideways glances at her, his ears very red.

How strange, that they should feel so similarly, when they had already engaged in conversation of the sort that was normally found in a marriage bed! What could there be to be nervous about? Rey twisted her handkerchief to bits under the table and tried to compose herself as the breakfast went on: perhaps it was just as well she was so nervous, for Paige kept smiling at her knowingly, and she must play the part of an innocent young wife—at least to all these people at the table.

At last, Lady Solo stood. "I believe we ought to let the happy couple leave us now: they have waited long enough."

Solo rose at once, and Rey followed suit, ears aflame as she followed him out to laughter and applause from the dining-room. "Good Lord," she said, blushing furiously, "have they all lost their senses?"

"It is a wedding, madam: nobody has any sense." Solo extended his arm and together they ascended the stair, the guests all filing out to the foyer to wave them up. After all, the wedding must be legal, and binding, and in order to do so, the marriage must be consummated. Rey waved at Paige, feeling light-headed, before Solo escorted her to his room. Belatedly, she realized she had never seen his chambers at the Rise before, and with that thought clear in her mind, the door to it opened, she entered, and it shut tight behind her.

His rooms were very plain and straightforward, with the only luxury being the carpets and the bedding: he had a simple dressing-table, and the furniture was decidedly un-fussy, the walls hung with plain cream and grey silk. She sat down gingerly on the dressing-table stool as Solo crossed to the mirror and, with a sigh, took off his starched cravat. "Blasted thing's been jabbing me in the throat for three hours," he said, as if to himself, before looking down at her. One hand flexed outward and curled into a fist. "I confess myself—I—I must admit something to you, as between husband and wife," he said stiffly, as if unsure how to best broach the subject.

"Oh? What's that?" she asked.

He was very pink in the cheeks. "When you—when we first—I know that we agreed never to speak of...it again, but I confess that I have thought about it often, and I have been—thinking, you understand, of how to improve the—the experience."

"Oh," Rey said, taken aback. "Have you?"

"I have. I wished to ask you if there was any thing you wished I might have done otherwise, or not done at all. I only want—I want you to enjoy it." Solo had truly gone scarlet by now. "I am told that ladies of your disposition generally enjoy it, but you did not seem to."

"I see," said Rey, heart pounding madly. "I—I remember how I desired that you kiss me, but you did not, and—perhaps you ought not to have."

"Kiss you! Ah." Solo paced a moment. "No, I did not do so, for I feared you would think it too presumptuous, or too intimate."

"Presumptuous! Intimate!" Rey's hands flew to cover her mouth so as not to laugh and shame the poor man. "Mr. Solo, I shall speak plainly, as we are alone, and as husband and wife must be plain with each other: to my knowledge, no greater intimacy exists than that of—of sex, of the marriage bed, and we have done that already."

"You are wrong on that count, madam," he said, half-smiling. "There are greater intimacies. One might be more intimate with a friend than a husband; secrets shared, and so on. But what I mean by a kiss—I will show you." He crossed over to her seat, took his shoes off, and knelt down, bringing his face directly on a level with hers, and she blushed deeply, but there was no need to be so coy, for he was her husband, was he not?

Solo's mouth found her brow, then the tip of her nose, then both cheeks, and she shivered slightly. "Are you cold?" he asked softly.

"No," she whispered. "Not at all."

"Good," he said, and pressed his lips to hers without any further ado. Rey bent her neck up, her mouth clinging to his, and his lips were soft, softer than anything she could imagine: how could she ever have thought him hard and unfeeling, or cruel? One of his hands came to catch at her back, to hold her close, and she grasped his shoulders tightly, forgetting propriety: this was her husband now, and she could make free of him as she wished. He could also make free of her, a fact of which she was reminded when his mouth caught clumsily at hers, opening her lips, and his tongue slipped across her lower lip, his teeth fastening on it gently. That was a new and strange thing, and Rey pulled her body closer, wishing to be swallowed up entirely by him, by his scent that rose up as he hummed lightly into her mouth, then released her, mouth and body. "You see," he said, somewhat hoarsely, "one might be more... _intimate_ in other ways."

"I see," Rey said, when she could speak. "Yes." Her dress felt entirely too constricting, her skin prickling all over with anticipation. "In my opinion, you ought to do it again as soon as possible, Mr. Solo."

He blushed and stood, kissing her brow and going to his mirror. "I shall, as soon as I get undressed."

"Oh, I will help you," said Rey quickly, standing and following him. Lord, but he was tall: her head just reached to his chin. She walked round to his front and pushed the coat carefully off his shoulders, then carefully undid the buttons of his waistcoat, one by one, and pulled that, too, from his broad shoulders, leaving him in shirt and breeches—then she stepped back, suddenly shy all over again.

"Is it my turn, then?" he asked, looking at her. "Turn round: shall I do your laces?"

"Yes," she breathed, and turned, her back to him, waiting. There was a pause; then his fingers touched her back, and Rey stiffened in surprise as he tugged the fine silk gown over her head, then set it aside, tracing the laces of her stays with his knuckles.

"I will be quick," he murmured, and he was: a few short moments and she stood in shift and stockings, looking back at Solo as he crossed to the bed and sat at the foot, pulling off his own stockings. When he was done with that, he put his hands on his knees and looked at her for a very long moment. It was such a look as to make her step back, away from the hunger in it.

"Mr. Solo?" she ventured, very nervous indeed.

"Come here," he said, voice gone soft and dark, and Rey did, coming to stand between his knees, very close. The heat of his body went through her silk shift and into her skin, and he put his hands on her waist: his hands nearly spanned her small middle, and his fingers felt enormous and heavy, resting on the small of her back. "I shall kiss you as often as you like, as long as you never call me Mr. Solo in bed."

She smiled. "Benjamin, then?"

"Mercy, no: only my mother calls me Benjamin, and that when she is cross, or lecturing." He kissed her arm, just above the elbow, then the other, and she hummed a little at how pleasant it felt. "You may call me Ben." Both dark eyes flickered up to her face, and Rey remembered his words, spoken in passion, that she had so often called to mind when alone to savor and pore over: _Ben. Call me Ben._

She placed a hand on his scarred cheek, tracing the scar with a careful touch. He shut his eyes and leaned into her palm, sighing. "And you must call me 'darling' or 'sweetheart': I hear all the ladies enjoy such pet names from their husbands."

"You have been listening to Mr. Namit too much," Solo said, closing his eyes as her hand went further down and opened his shirt, touching the skin at his throat. "Am I never to call you 'Rey' then, or even 'Mrs. Solo'?"

Rey smiled and leaned down boldly, kissing his brow. "Let me think. You may call me Rey when we are abed, or behind closed doors, or when you are feeling exceptionally cross with me; but you may only ever call me 'Mrs. Solo' when you are perfectly, completely happy."

"May I indeed?" asked Solo, and drew her down into his arms, kissing her fiercely on the mouth. She returned it in kind until they toppled onto the bed together, and in great eagerness Solo pulled her shift up as they lay on their sides, his hand brushing across her thigh. "Rey—" He sounded hoarse and eager, his scent billowing across her.

"Wait," said Rey suddenly, feeling awfully bold, and sat up, pulling the shift over her head and casting it aside: and there she was, naked save for the stockings, and a red-cheeked Solo's eyes as wide and round as saucers. "There, you see: there can be nothing hid for my part now."

"Ah," said Solo, eyes narrowing again. He sat up, kneeling, and took her ankle in his hand: how very small she seemed next to him! "Not quite all hid."

Rey could not believe her ears. Here she sat, naked as a plucked chicken from head to thigh, and he was looking at her stockings! "You are not satisfied, then?"

"Not yet." Slowly, he rolled down her stockings, slowly, he took them off and put them aside. "There. Now I am satisfied, or near enough."

Well, two could play at that game. "Indeed, but I am not. You must take off your shirt, and breeches and all the rest: fair is fair."

Solo gave her a long, slow look from head to toe and nodded, slipping off the bed. Rey watched, avidly curious, for she had not properly appreciated his form and figure before, and now found herself possessing the luxury to do so. Broad shoulders, large hands, a thickly built chest—there was the scar from where he had been shot in the spring—gleaming with sweat, freckles and moles scattered across the whole of his body. Both powerful thighs were dusted with sparse dark hair, and his legs were long and lean. Between his thighs—here Rey blushed furiously, trying not to look, but it could not be helped—his cockstand stood up, hard already, and it looked far larger than she remembered: the lower half of the organ was flushed deep scarlet with the promise of a knot, and she swallowed, her mouth gone dry at the memory. "Are you satisfied now, madam?" he asked, looking at her.

"So far," she answered, blushing. "Come back to the bed."

"Gladly," he said, and climbed back up, and then he was embracing her, drowning her in kisses on the soft bed. One hand crept between her thighs, clumsy as he stroked and petted her, and she became warm and wet, opening like a flower to give him passage. A thick, blunt finger passed through cautiously, as if to test the waters, and Rey let out a mewling cry: the smell of him was driving her mad: she must have him, she _must—_

"Please, Ben," she begged. "Oh, please, _please_ —"

"Yes, my darling—Rey, hold _still_ ," Solo murmured, and she clutched his shoulders as he put himself _there_ , and pushed, and she took him as neatly as a sheath takes a sword. A great shocking tingle swept her thighs and belly, and she buried her face in the delicious scent of him, emanating from the throat: her mouth watered, she wanted to swallow him whole, to drown in him entirely. His teeth found her jaw, her cheek, her ear: he kissed and licked and groaned. "Rey. _Rey._ So... _close,_ you—ah, _wet_ , hot, _Rey—"_

"Oh, God," Rey choked, trembling as he began to move over and into her: deep, deep, deep. "No—I don't want it to end, Ben: not so soon—"

"It won't be soon," he said, sweating as he lifted his head to speak, with an expression on his face as if he was doing some backbreaking physical labor. "Have no—fear of that: I am not suffering from rut and therefore have—ah—the advantage of—" Solo broke off his speech and groaned, thrusting himself deeper, and Rey whimpered in frustration: something remained to be done on her end, _something_ was not right, but what it was, she could not at first decide—

 _Oh!_ She pushed at him quickly, and he acquiesced, allowing her to ride atop his hips as he lay on his back. Rey’s hand reached down to just above where their bodies were joined, and she rubbed at that most sensitive part of herself: the touch sent shudders through her body, and Solo must have felt something on his part, for his grasp tightened and he grunted as he continued to raise his hips in slow, punishing turns. "Is that—good?" he gasped, searching her face for any sign. “Rey—"

"Yes," panted Rey, eyes squeezed shut. Something was building, rising, cresting inside her body with every movement. She planted one hand on his broad breast, trembling as she rocked atop him. "Oh, _God_ , do not stop: I—"

Something shattered, something deep within her bursting apart into bright, beautiful warmth, like a wave that carried her off and away: Rey cried out and clung to Solo as she lost her senses for a moment, gasping for air. She had never attained a climax with a man inside her, and the sensation was astonishingly pleasurable, and different than when it was only herself, alone.

"Have I harmed you?" he asked, anxiously cradling her as she went boneless on his chest. "Rey?"

"You have not: quite the opposite, in fact," she said dreamily, cheek pressed to his scarred breast. "Oh, do what you like now: I shan't mind it at all, not even if you knocked me off the bed."

He laughed outright, showing her his sweet, crooked teeth, and he rolled her over under him again, and in short order he was groaning through his own climax, and there! they were tied together, body and soul, in the knot that she had missed so much, and Rey went still and pliant by instinct as Solo, gasping as if he had run a mile, laid himself down and took her to him so that they faced each other, with one arm curled about her naked waist and his head resting on the pillow by her own, brow to brow. Rey stroked his soft black hair and thought of not much at all, until his breathing had returned to an ordinary tempo and he turned his head up to look at her.

"I believe you enjoyed that, if I may make so bold," he said, voice sleepy and sated.

"You may, and you would be entirely correct," she said, smiling.

"I cannot express how glad I am to hear it, Mrs. Solo," he said softly, kissing her cheek. "Mrs. Solo," he whispered again, with a kiss on her nose accompanying it: "Mrs. Solo," one last time, and he kissed her mouth, and together they lay in bed, with the promise of a new day coming, and a fresh sun rising.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No epilogue for this one! Feel free to ask me my headcanons about shit that you're curious about because chances are I thought about it and then couldn't work it into the narrative. Thank you so much for reading!!


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